


Dido's Lament

by peach_oolong



Series: The Diana LaFrenz Chronicles [2]
Category: Bots Master
Genre: Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Betrayal, Blackmail, Corporate Espionage, F/M, Family Drama, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Legal Drama, Love, Mental Breakdown, Mental Disintegration, Original Character(s), Platonic Relationships, Requited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 08:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5533388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peach_oolong/pseuds/peach_oolong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after "The Setting Sun": After Lady Frenzy - AKA Diana LaFrenz - successfully fends off the Department of Justice's investigation into the Yvonne Iverson kidnapping, she assumes life will go back to normal for her and Paradim. However, when the vengeful attorney general threatens to deport her for being in the United States on an expired student visa, Frenzy must scramble to stay one step ahead of her would-be persecutors. The solution Frenzy eventually devises to solve her immigration problem will have serious repercussions for everyone in the "Bots Master" universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peace and I are Strangers Grown

**Author's Note:**

> The chapter titles and the accompanying quotes all come from the libretto of the 1689 opera, "Dido and Aeneas," by Henry Purcell (music) and Nahum Tate (words). The only exception is the final chapter, which is from the end of "Siegfried," the third opera in Richard Wagner's Ring Cycle. Because of their ages, the librettos to both operas are in the public domain. If you've read "Reason and the Will" (and you really should, because otherwise the back story in "Dido's Lament" won't make any sense), you'll know that Lady Frenzy is a cultural snob and would be familiar with both "Dido and Aeneas" and "Siegfried." The plot for "Dido's Lament" is roughly based on the legend of Dido of Carthage outlined in the first part of "The Aeneid," so if you don't know that story, I would recommend you read the Wikipedia page for "Dido, Queen of Carthage," albeit after finishing this fic.

_Ah! Belinda, I am prest_

_With torment not to be Confest,_

_Peace and I are strangers grown._

_I languish till my grief is known,_

_Yet would not have it guest._

 

“OH. MY. GOD. COULD THIS IS THE BIGGEST MISCARRIAGE OF JUSTICE IN RECENT MEMORY? HOW COULD SOMEONE LIKE LADY FRENZY, WHO IS SO OBVIOUSLY GUILTY SASHAY OUT OF THE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE, SMIRKING LIKE SATAN HIMSELF, LIKE SHE DOESN'T HAVE A CARE IN THE WORLD?”

Lady Frenzy, AKA Countess Diana LaFrenz, rolled her eyes at the antics of perpetually outraged cable news legal pundit, Peggy Prudence, and took a sip from her wine glass. She had returned to RM Corp City from Washington, DC less than five hours ago, and was watching Prudence's on-air meltdown on the televiewer in her penthouse apartment. Frenzy normally didn't waste time on cable news, especially on superficial personalities like Prudence, who had nothing better to do than whip up a virtual lynch mob against her, but her recent win over the United States Department of Justice had been so massive that it was a joy to see her enemies choke on their own impotent rage. Prudence's normal manner of speaking was always a shout even when she was reasonably calm, and she was practically foaming at the mouth that Sir Lewis Leon Paradim, Lady Frenzy, and the Corp had managed to completely evade any kind of punishment in the Yvonne Iverson kidnapping case.

Truthfully, Frenzy herself had been afraid that she and Paradim were going to do serious time for the kidnapping of Yvonne Iverson. While Hiss, who had been working on the Brain Grain project, could legitimately claim that he knew nothing about the kidnapping plot, Paradim had kept Frenzy abreast of his plan at every point in the conspiracy. Although Frenzy considered herself to be an innocent who had been unintentionally swept into a ridiculous plot that she had tried to stop numerous times, from the perspective of outsiders (not to mention the law), she was an accomplice at worse and guilty of obstructing justice at the very least. Fortunately, Paradim and Frenzy found themselves to be the unexpected recipients of some bloody good luck, when Vincent Montrose, head of the Montrose crime family, Eddie and Stub, the two goons in charge of kidnapping Yvonne Iverson, and much of the upper echelon of the Montrose crime family were executed by members of Los Etas, a Honduran drug cartel with a penchant for extreme violence. The murders were particularly brazen, as Montrose, Eddie, and Stub had actually been killed in the van taking them to the Mega City Jail, while the other upper level Montrose captains were murdered while at a restaurant with known ties to their “family” in the middle of the day. With Vincent Montrose and anyone remotely associated with the Yvonne Iverson kidnapping wiped out, there was no one to contradict Paradim’s claims that he had been met with the notorious mob boss to secure Yvonne’s release.

Despite the loss of their key witnesses, the Department of Justice summoned Frenzy out to Washington, DC to testify in a highly publicized and widely televised trial to see if they could get her on something to save face, but a conspicuous lack of evidence, combined with her own coy answers meant that there was nothing they could indict her or Paradim on, and she returned to Mega City in triumph. As Prudence ranted and raved about the shocking denouement of the trial, Frenzy reflected on how convenient it had been that anyone who could have testified against her had died unexpectedly, but concluded that sudden death was an occupational hazard that went along with being a part of organized crime and that there was nothing particularly unusual about the sudden decimation of the Montrose family.

“JOINING ME IN THE STUDIO,” Prudence continued. “IS THE GRANDMOTHER OF PRECIOUS YVONNE IVERSON AND THE MOTHER OF PRESIDENT IVERSON, MRS. GENEVIEVE TODD-IVERSON.”

“Thank you for having me tonight, Peggy,” an elderly woman of patrician bearing said. She looked familiar to Frenzy, but she couldn't figure out why.

“YOU MUST BE HAVING SUCH A DIFFICULT TIME, MRS.TODD-IVERSON, SINCE THE DEPARTMENT OF JUSTICE FAILED TO INDICT SIR PARADIM OR LADY FRENZY.”

“It has been difficult, Peggy,” Mrs. Todd-Iverson said, taking a handkerchief out of her purse and daintily dabbing her eyes. “There's just no justice in this country anymore. I think to myself sometimes, 'Is this the America I grew up with?' The moral rot we have to deal with extends to the highest levels of society, and none of us are safe from it.”

“I'm sure you're excluding yourself from that assessment, dear,” Frenzy said sarcastically to the televiewer.

“SO TRAGIC,” Prudence tutted. “YET, SO VERY TRUE. IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL ANY BETTER, MRS. TODD-IVERSON, WE'VE BEEN CONDUCTING AN ONLINE POLL SINCE THE START OF THIS PROGRAM, ASKING THE QUESTION, 'WERE SIR PARADIM AND LADY FRENZY INVOLVED WITH THE KIDNAPPING OF YVONNE IVERSON?' AND 69 PERCENT SAY **YES**! THE TRUTH-LOVING PEOPLE OF AMERICA ARE STANDING WITH THE IVERSON FAMILY!”

“I'm glad to hear that, Peggy,” Mrs. Todd-Iverson replied, putting away her handkerchief and turning to the camera. “Because I have an announcement of my own to make. I publicly accuse Sir Lewis Leon Paradim of orchestrating a conspiracy against my family. It’s a national disgrace that the Department of Justice was unable to indict a man who was clearly 100 percent guilty. It’s even more disgraceful that the members of the hearing were swayed by the feminine wiles of some amoral corporate hooker, because I can think of no other reason why the outcome should have been so. My husband, the former senator and I fully intent to sue Sir Paradim and that woman of his for all they're worth. We're so confident, in fact, that the amount we're gunning for is in the billions.”

“YOU HEARD IT HERE FIRST, PEOPLE!” Prudence shouted, barely able to contain her glee at the possibility of a new trial and bigger ratings. “GRANDMA IVERSON TO SIR PARADIM: YOU'VE BEEN SERVED!”

“Since I'm here,” Mrs. Todd-Iverson added. “I'd like to take a second and mention my newest book, _Won't Somebody Please Think of the Children? How to Fight for Decency in a Decadent Society_ , now available in hardback and e-book....”

Frenzy sighed and took a deep quaff of her wine. Just when she was certain that she could put the entire Yvonne Iverson debacle behind her, she now had to deal with this money-grubbing old harridan. That she had been referred to as a “corporate hooker” on national television was only a minor concern, as Frenzy had realized long ago that if she became upset every time someone called her some variation of “whore,” she’d never get anything done.

As Prudence and Todd-Iverson continued their rantings and ravings, Frenzy examined the elderly woman thoughtfully, filled with the vague feeling that she knew her from somewhere. She picked up her cell phone and called Paradim inform him of the newest pothole in the road to rehabilitating his public image.

“What is it, Frenzy?” Paradim mumbled. Frenzy was the only person who had the number to his private cell phone number, so he knew it was her before he picked up the phone. She hadn't seen him in person since she left for Washington a month ago, and Frenzy worried that his mental and physical health was deteriorating.

“This Genevieve Todd-Iverson woman is on the Peggy Prudence show, claiming she's going to sue us for billions,” Frenzy replied.

“It's not going to happen!” Paradim snapped.

“I know it's not going to happen,” Frenzy said, forefinger tracing the rim of her wine glass anxiously. “I'm just trying to keep you abreast of what's going on. The viewer poll Prudence is running has 69 percent of those responding convinced that we were involved in Yvonne Iverson's kidnapping. Granted, the people who watch Peggy Prudence are the type who think everyone is guilty, so I don't put much stock in it.”

“We've got to change their minds,” Paradim said, with uncharacteristic panic coloring his voice. “How am I supposed to get anything done with this scandal hovering around me? How can I possibly run for World President with my reputation ruined?”

“I'm not worried,” Frenzy assured him, although she privately thought that Paradim needed to shelve his World President plans for the foreseeable future. “Just lie low for awhile and a new scandal involving someone else will soon crop up and monopolize the public's attention. I mean, eighty percent of _The Peggy Prudence Show_ is devoted to missing white women. The moment some housewife in Salt Lake City disappears, she'll forget all about us. Speaking of which, do you know anything about this Genevieve Todd-Iverson woman?”

“You've probably seen her in the news. She comes from old money, or whatever passes for old money in the US. A trust fund baby. Probably never had a real job in her life. Mrs. Todd-Iverson's husband is former Virginia senator Jim Iverson, and she’s made a career for herself of complaining about indecency and low morals.”

“I don’t pay attention to American culture war politics; it's too trifling,” Frenzy said dismissively. She prided herself on her in-depth of knowledge of international relations, economics, and the law, but whenever some American politician came on the televiewer to complain about abortion or to discuss how his “personal relationship with Jesus” required him to vote this way or that, she immediately turned it off. To Frenzy's European mindset, discussing religion in public was akin to talking about one's bathroom habits, but she realized that she was in the minority on this issue. “But I still feel like I’ve seen her somewhere.”

“Remember her from one of Tommy and Sophie’s parties?” Paradim said sarcastically.

“Don’t even joke about that,” Frenzy said, bristling at the reminder of the dissolute parents she made a point to never think about. “Besides, I doubt they’d associate with anyone that shrill and self-righteous. Then again, people who complain that much about sex tend to be freaks themselves. I can remember seeing more than one 'prince of the church' on the _Naughty Bits_.”

Frenzy slipped her wine, and played around with the name in her head, as she tried to remember where she had seen the woman before. Genevieve Todd-Iverson. Genevieve Todd. Jenny Todd. “Hot Toddy.” The answer suddenly came to her. Genevieve Todd-Iverson was her father’s first wife, “Hot Toddy,” the girl with the amazing tongue who left him to marry a conservative Virginia senator. The realization was so shocking, she gasped loudly and nearly spilled her wine on the floor.

“What’s wrong?” Paradim asked irritably. He was hoping that Frenzy would stay on the line, so he could complain to her about the various people and institutions he felt were persecuting him.

“I just figured out how to make this lawsuit go away,” Frenzy said, taking a final swig of her wine, and ending the call so she could formulate her plan of attack.

*

“I’m so glad you could meet me on such short notice,” Frenzy said to Mrs. Todd-Iverson, as she led her opponent to the meeting room in the Corp’s archives. Frenzy was convinced that the Zulander security leak was coming from her office, and decided to hold the sensitive meeting in an out of the way spot, since what she planned to do could be considered blackmail in the minds of some.

“Cut the banal pleasantries,” Mrs. Todd Iverson barked. “What do you want?”

“I don’t really think that another trial is in Yvonne’s best interests,” Frenzy said crisply, putting a conspicuously large House of Lebec purse in her lap as she sat down opposite Mrs. Todd Iverson. “She’d have to take the stand, be re-traumatized all over again, and that's not something I want. I’m going to offer you $30 million to drop the lawsuit. That’s more than enough to get Yvonne therapy or anything else she needs.”

“$30 million?” Mrs. Todd-Iverson echoed scornfully. “You must think I’m a fool. $30 million is spare change for the Corp. I want to bleed you and the Corp dry. I’m going to sue Paradim and the Corp for billions, and I’ll win too. You might have been able to fool the Justice Department with sophistry and cleavage, but I’ll see to it that I get a female judge and a female jury, decent mothers, who won’t be swayed by your tricks.”

“ _You’re_ the fool if you expect me to believe that even someone as well-connected as you could stack a civil trial so heavily in your favor or that a judge would award you a billion dollar settlement,” Frenzy said, smiling sweetly, while her eyes hardened. “The Jackson family couldn’t pull it off against AiG, and neither can you.”

“The way you’re pressing for a settlement suggests you have something to hide,” Mrs. Todd-Iverson said triumphantly.

“This has nothing to do with having something to hide,” Frenzy interrupted. “Sir Paradim and I have better things to do than waste time with petty lawsuits. Unlike you, my dear, I actually have a job and it doesn't involve indulging the delusions of bored, greedy socialites. $30 million is a good deal, and it would be in your best interests to take it.”

“Or else...?”

“You know, I was doing some spring cleaning a while ago, and I found the most interesting movie stashed away,” Frenzy said, pulling a rusty 8mm film canister out of her purse. The yellowed label read, _Fun with Hot Toddy._ Mrs. Todd-Iverson saw the label, and paled.

“Not too many people my age know how to run a film projector, but I’ve always been a rather old-fashioned girl,” Frenzy said. “Imagine my surprise when I saw Genevieve Todd-Iverson, mother of a president, wife of a senator, grandmother of a kidnapping victim in a homemade porn tape.”

“Where did you get that?” Mrs. Todd-Iverson said sharply, reaching out for the canister, which Frenzy placed in her lap, out of the reach of her opponent.

“I told you, I found it,” Frenzy said calmly. “And it’s not the only one of its kind that I have.”

Frenzy dumped the contents of her purse onto the table, revealing about a dozen other film canisters identical to the one in her lap. “Let’s see what we have here,” Frenzy continued, picking up another film canister to examine. “ _Communal Orgy. Group Sex with Doug and Mike._ I suppose you won't tell me who Doug and Mike might be? _Sex on the Pier. Sex under the Bridge._ You certainly were an exhibitionist back in the day, weren’t you? Certainly took the idea of ‘the Summer of Love’ literally. And there's more.”

Frenzy reached into a side pocket of her purse and pulled out a number of photos of her father, Tommy LaFrenz, and the younger version of Mrs. Todd-Iverson clad only in mud and flowers. Mrs. Todd-Iverson looked like she was about to either throw up or pass out.

“Does this look familiar?” Frenzy asked accusingly, enjoying watching the older woman's face turn various shades of purple. “San Francisco, circa 1966? A certain commune in Haight-Ashbury where the men sold dope and the women sold sexual favors? I believe a certain errant heiress ended up there after running away from boarding school where she hooked up with an equally dissolute young British aristocrat?”

“I was young!” Mrs. Todd-Iverson cried out. “I didn't understand what I was getting myself into.”

“What an interesting response, given that you've said that marijuana should never be legalized because potheads are useless moochers and parasites,” Frenzy replied, showing her nemesis a photo of her and Tommy LaFrenz merrily puffing away on a pair of gigantic marijuana joints. “I guess you're one of those 'Do as I say, not as I do,' sorts, although now that I think of it, you do strike me as being rather parasitic. Now, believe me, I don’t really want to have to send all these embarrassing materials to the media, but if you don’t take my offer, I’m afraid you’re going to force my hand. Not only would you be embarrassing yourself, your husband, and the president, but Yvonne as well. Can you imagine how humiliating it would be have to go to school and have your grandmother’s sex tape and nude drug pics be the topic of conversation on everyone’s lips? I think that would be even more traumatizing than being kidnapped.”

“Do you think you can get away with blackmailing me?”

“How is this blackmail when I’m offering _you_ money?” Frenzy said, putting the canisters on the photos as a sort of paperweight. “Not only do you come out of this with a bonus thirty million dollars, but the masses will be shielded from knowing about your youthful depravity, which will allow you to continue your lucrative career as a public scold.”

Frenzy felt a warm, heady sensation fill her body, as she watched Mrs.Todd-Iverson squirm in her seat. It was the “orgasm of conquest” that she knew and loved so well. Her opponent was trapped and knew it; there was nothing left for Mrs. Todd-Iverson but to submit to Frenzy’s will.

“You know, you should really be nice to me,” Frenzy continued. “Did you know we’re family?”

“How so?”

“Your first husband, the one you never talk about, was my father. So I guess that makes me your step-daughter. Maybe I could come over to your compound in Virginia some time, and we could all wear ugly sweaters and take awkward family photos. It could be fun.”

“Now that I think of it, I did hear that Tommy married some French whore back in the 90s, and later overdosed,” Mrs. Todd-Iverson said, her voice dripping with self-righteous smugness. “You must be that ‘toilet baby’ they were trying so hard to hide. If you don’t watch yourself, you’ll end up just like your mother, with a needle up your crotch.”

“Based on what I’ve heard about you, ‘Hot Toddy,’ it could just have easily been you who ODed with Tommy with a needle up her crotch in 1969,” Frenzy said, ready to crush the impudent woman who dared to mock her with that hated moniker. She cursed herself for informing Mrs. Todd-Iverson about their familial bond, but she doubted that this was a fact that the other woman would be eager to broadcast. “Don’t think for a minute I’m afraid of tangling with you in court. You saw what happened at the Department of Justice hearing, and I can do the same thing at a civil trial, even if you stacked the whole jury pool with nothing but your own family members. If you insist on going through with this civil trial, I’ll take you down to the mat and believe me you won’t get up. Now you have two choices. You can either take the settlement, drop the case, and get on with the rest of your life, or you can refuse and I’ll leak the tapes to the media. You might think you’re some kind of moral compass for this nation, Mrs. Todd-Iverson, but what you are is vindictive famewhore bitch who’s using her granddaughter’s plight to self-aggrandize. Your god may forgive you for what you have and have not done, but I doubt that your granddaughter will be so forgiving.”

“Fine, I’ll take the deal,” Mrs. Todd-Iverson said, looking extremely unhappy at her decision.

“Good,” Frenzy said, putting on a superficial smile, as she escorted her guest to the door. “I’ll send your lawyers some paperwork to finalize the settlement.”

“Do I get the tapes and the photos?” Mrs. Todd-Iverson said hopefully.

Frenzy smirked and said, “Why? Plan on doing some late-night viewing with the senator?”

Mrs. Todd-Iverson blushed, and hurried out of the room, while Frenzy returned to her office to celebrate her victory with a glass of champagne.

*

With the Department of Justice inquiry over and the civil suit against Paradim withdrawn, Frenzy hoped that her life was going to settle into some sort of normalcy, but an unwelcome telephone call several days after her triumph over Mrs. Todd-Iverson presented her with a problem that lacked an easy answer.

“Hello, this is Lady Frenzy,” she said, putting her newly filled wine glass on a coaster as she answered the phone.

“Lady Frenzy, this is Attorney General James Martin,” replied a melodious baritone voice.

“What do you want, Martin?” Frenzy replied wearily. Although much of the Department of Justice hearing was a blur, Frenzy couldn’t forget the man who had tried so hard to deprive her and her mentor of their freedom.

“Just out of curiosity, I ran your prints through the system and I discovered that you have a record, Frenzy. Or should I say, Countess Diana LaFrenz?”

“I don’t have a record, Martin,” Frenzy said, discomfited by her interlocutor’s use of her real name. For all intents and purposes, Countess Diana LaFrenz and Lady Frenzy were two separate people, and that was the way she wanted to keep it. The only person who called her “Diana” was Mrs. Schelling, her old tutor, and occasionally Paradim, when he was patronizing her to make a point. The name reminded her of the past, of the scared, unloved little girl she used to be, not the powerful “Master of the Universe” she was now, who could stare down the United States government and win.

“I’m sure you haven’t forgotten when you were deported at the age of ten?”

“No, I haven’t forgotten. What’s your point?”

“I did some research and found out that you’re in the U.S. on an expired student visa.”

“This sounds like sour grapes because Sir Lewis was cleared of all charges in the inquiry. I’ve done too much international travel in the past dozen years for my immigration situation to be irregular.”

“You can choose to believe it or not, Frenzy,” Martin replied. “But I’m looking at your file right here, and I can assure you that right now you have about as much business being in the United States as the illegals who work at Corp-Mart. I’m giving you two choices: you can either self-deport yourself back to whatever European country you’re from or ICE is going to arrest you in public. And when you get arrested, you won’t be at a cute detention shelter like when you were a child. You’ll be sharing a cell with hardcore drug runners, murderers, and prostitutes. I know some of those girls would love to get a piece of you...”

“Are you threatening me, Martin?” Frenzy snapped.

“Maybe I am and maybe I’m not,” Martin said triumphantly. “All I know is that you have a week to make your decision. If you’re not out of the country by then, be prepared to do the perp walk.”

Martin abruptly hung up, leaving Frenzy to wonder whether the attorney general’s accusation about her legal status were true. It seemed absurd that Paradim would fail to secure the proper papers for her, but then again it was also absurd that he would think that he could conspire with the Mafia to kidnap the president’s daughter and not get caught.

*

“Why didn’t you tell me I was in the U.S. on an expired student visa?” Frenzy cried angrily to Paradim, who was sitting on the handmade couch in his living room dressed in a stained smoking jacket and slippers, seemingly indifferent to her problems.

“What difference does it make?” Paradim mumbled. He had become rather agoraphobic after the Yvonne Iverson fiasco, and hadn’t left his mansion since the Department of Justice hearing was announced. His formerly clean-shaven face was covered with a long beard a a rank odor hung about the entire house.

“The Attorney General called me tonight and said if I didn’t leave in one week, he was going to have me arrested. I need to have this cleared up right now.”

“Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I thought I had a green card. You told me ten years ago that you’d handle everything with regard to my papers.”

“It slipped through the cracks. That was a very busy period for me.”

“You mean you were so caught up in this world domination crap that you couldn’t be bothered to fill out some HR basic paperwork.”

Paradim glared at Frenzy with a dangerous glint in his lupine eyes, making her realize that she’d gone too far.

“I...I’m sorry, LLP,” Frenzy said hastily. “It’s just the stress and anxiety...”

“Don’t _ever_ call my plans 'crap' again, Frenzy,” he said in a quiet growl.

“I’m tired, LLP,” Frenzy cried, turning away from Paradim’s fearsome yellow eyes. “I almost lost my mind during that inquiry. It was just me against the entire United States Senate, and I didn’t have any moral support or... I mean, I’ve done so much for you and the Corp, and I don’t always feel appreciated...”

“You think my plans are crap?” Paradim snapped. “Then figure something out yourself!”

“But LLP...”

“You’re a smart woman, probably smarter than me in many ways. You’ll think of something. Now, leave me.”

“But...”

“Now!”

Shocked at this brusque treatment, Frenzy quickly backed out of the room and returned to her own apartment.

*

Frenzy poured herself another glass of wine, her third glass of the night, and wondered if she was becoming an alcoholic. She had always been partial to a glass of wine to end the day, but the stress of the last few months had caused her to drink more. She had been drinking so much during the Department of Justice hearing that she barely remembered it. While Frenzy considered it a testament to her mental acumen that she could be completely drunk and still gain the upper hand over the Department of Justice, the last thing she wanted to do was become an addict like her parents. Yet Frenzy was positive that she, unlike them, really could stop drinking whenever she wished. She stared at the wine critically for a moment, and carefully poured it back in the bottle, spilling a bit on the table.

With demon alcohol out of sight and out of mind, Frenzy put her mind to figuring out how to deal with her immigration problem. The idea of “self-deportation” was appealing, if only because it would allow her to flee from the mess she had created in the United States. As of late, the Lady Frenzy persona had been nothing but trouble, and she wouldn’t have minded turning her back on the Corp for a quiet life as a country squire. But the idea of conceding defeat to a vindictive bureaucrat was abhorrent, so she put her mind to work to find a way to stave off deportation.

The most obvious solution would be for the Corp to sponsor a new work visa for her, but Frenzy doubted that the Corp’s word had any stock with the government these days, and Martin would probably find some loophole that would exclude her. For example, Frenzy knew that was a law that said an immigrant could be pushed to the front of the green card line if he or she established a company that created at least one hundred American jobs, but those jerks at INS insisted that the law didn’t apply to her because she wasn’t the CEO or the founder of the Corp. This left marriage to an American citizen as the only option available to Frenzy, and she couldn’t think of anyone she wanted to marry. The only person that came to mind was her friend with benefits Lord Smith-Smythe Flyte, and he had ended their association after the Yvonne Iverson kidnapping scandal went public because he thought she had become “too dark.” Not that it mattered, since he wasn’t a citizen either.

Well, there was Ziv Zulander, but that wasn’t possible.

Or was it?


	2. Whence Could So Much Virtue Spring?

_Whence could so much virtue spring?_

_What storms, what battles did he sing?_

_Anchises' valour mixt with Venus' charms_

_How soft in peace, and yet how fierce in arms!_

 

Ziv Zulander lay in the bed of his underground hideout, staring at the ceiling and feeling tired and discouraged. He had been positive that exposing Paradim as the mastermind behind Yvonne Iverson's kidnapping would be the catalyst that would finally bring down the Corp. Ziv had watched every minute of the televised Department of Justice hearings where Frenzy was grilled repeatedly about what she did and didn't know about the kidnapping of the president's daughter, expecting her to finally come clean about Project Krang, the Corp's dirty war against him, and the various other crimes she knew about or personally committed. Instead, Ziv watched the government officials in charge of the investigation admit that they had no hard evidence or witnesses to tie her or Paradim to the kidnapping, and Frenzy skillful gaslight her would-be interrogators to the point where they couldn't even remember why they had summoned her in the first place. The only aspect of the hearings that made it worthwhile was Frenzy's tendency to change clothes three to four times every day, often favoring ensembles with plunging necklines. Ziv was furious at Frenzy for what he regarded as her complete amorality, yet remained hopelessly infatuated with her, which confused him. He wished there was some human adult he could talk to about his problems and insecurities, but his questionable legal status made socializing difficult, if not dangerous. _Not that I had much of a social life before this war with the Corp started_ , Ziv thought bitterly.

Ziv had been thinking more and more about Frenzy (if such a thing could be possible) since he returned from Paris with Alicia. Or rather, since he returned alone from Paris; just when Ziv thought the could finally cash in his overdue v-card, he made the fatal mistake of shouting out Frenzy's name right before the sex could properly begin. That faux pas led to Alicia and Ziv sleeping in separate beds for the rest of the trip, and returning home as individuals rather than a couple. Ziv had hoped that there could be a reconciliation during his birthday party, but any chance of that happening was dashed when Frenzy herself was revealed to be his “present” from Watzon and Ninjzz. While Alicia was grateful that he and the BOYZZ had protected her from the Corp's forces, she informed Ziv in no uncertain terms that she refused to play second fiddle to “that woman” any longer.

Unable to sleep, Ziv put on a bathrobe and went into the living room, where the Talking Heads were transfixed by a kitschy sci-fi movie. Since it was past midnight, the other BOYZZ were in the opposite part of the house so they could continue their various revelries without disturbing the sleeping humans. Ziv went to his computer and logged into Mirrorzz in the vague hopes that Frenzy might be doing something. He didn't care if what she was doing legal or illegal at this point; he just wanted to spent some time looking at an attractive (albeit Machiavellian) adult woman. Much to Ziv's delight, he saw that Frenzy was indeed hard at work, reading a thick memo at her desk.

Using Mirrorzz's camera toggle mode to zoom in the cover page, Ziv saw that the title of the report was, “New Approaches for the Reactivation of Project Krang: A Detailed Proposal.” Ziv's stomach lurched as he moved the camera to focus in on one of the papers on her desk, which read, “The remote control properties of the krang chip should be converted into a software update. The most obvious advantage of this would be that the need for physical factories would be eliminated, which would enhance overall security. Another plus is that all users would need to upgrade their bots' software to continue using them, or buy new 3As with the krang software already installed. Prototype code for Project Krang 2.0, beta version, will be not be kept in the Corp's cloud system because of the threat of hackers; rather a flash drive with the code and a hard copy will be kept in the residence of the executive vice president until a final decision has been made about the overall future of Project Krang.”

Ziv turned off the computer, and pondered what to do. _If the code for Project Krang 2.0 is somewhere in Lady Frenzy's apartment_ , Ziv thought. _It should be an easy thing to retrieve it, especially if she's working in RM Corp City._ _Only a skeleton force of PPBs protect the apartments at the Corp Condo Complex, so I should be able to get in and out in less than two hours, maybe even ninety minutes._

The Department of Justice investigation had forced the Corp to be on its best public behavior, which included a momentary lull in hostilities against the Zulanders and the BOYZZ. Ziv didn't want to unnecessarily antagonize Paradim and restart open warfare between them, and decided that a quick, stealthy, one-man mission consisting of getting in and out of RM Corp City before anyone noticing would be the best plan. He suited up into his battle uniform, went to meet Twigg, the only BOYZZ he was taking along for the mission, and flew to RM Corp City on stealth mode.

*

“Are you sure you should be going on a mission without telling anyone, ZZ?” Twigg asked Ziv, as the hybrid car-plane-BOYZZ landed on the roof of the Corp Condo Complex.

“If all goes according to plan, I'll be in and out before anyone at home knows I'm gone and well before anyone at the Corp knows anything in going on,” Ziv assured him. “I just need to get inside the condo's air conditioning ducts, get into Frenzy's apartment, get the code, and then return the same way I came. It'll be a literal slam dunk.”

“You're the boss,” Twigg said, although he clearly didn't approve of such a risky plan.

Ziv used his laser wrench to unscrew the cover to the A/C duct and proceeded to crawl inside the tunnel-like structure. Since Ziv knew that Frenzy occupied the top three floors of the Corp Condo Complex, it only took a brief creep to get to her quarters. Taking out his laser wrench again, Ziv unscrewed the cover that separated the A/C duct from Frenzy's apartment. However, no sooner had Ziv jumped out of the A/C duct and into Frenzy's living room when his entire body was seized with an agonizing pain, and he passed out.

*

The first thing Ziv remembered after blacking out was the unfamiliar yet luxurious sensation of rolling around on silk sheets. A stray thought in the back of his mind reminded Ziv that he didn't own any silk sheets, and he slowly opened his eyes, expecting to find himself back in his room at his underground lair, emerging from a dream of some sort. Instead, Ziv found himself lying supine on those mysterious silk sheets inside an immense four-post canopy bed. At first, Ziv was completely bewildered about where he might be, until he remembered that the only person he knew who had such a bed was Lady Frenzy. Alarmed, Ziv jumped out the bed, and felt an unexpected breeze. Looking down, Ziv was mortified to discover that the majority of his clothes had been stripped off, leaving him in only his ZZ t-shirt and a pair of grey boxer shorts. Ziv was about to start looking for his pants, when Frenzy herself walked into the bedroom with a look of mild surprise.

“Ah, so you're awake?” she said, while Ziv turned so red, he thought his head would explode.

There were many questions that Ziv could have asked Frenzy like, _Where is the code for Project Krang 2.0_?, _How long have I been out_?, or _Why did you knock me out_? Instead, he stuck with his most immediate concern, which was, “Where are my pants?”

“Don't worry; you're fine,” Frenzy said, beckoning him to follow her through the double doors and into the living room.

Ziv hesitated for a moment, but decided that any possibility of escape lay with Frenzy herself, and that it would be in his best interests to try an reason with her. He thought about Twigg, and wondered if he was still in RM Corp City or if he had gone home. Surely, Twigg had to know that something had gone awry with the mission.

Once in the living room, Frenzy sat down on the couch and motioned for him to join her. Ziv looked around the room, vainly hoping that his lost pants might be around, and reluctantly sat down when he realized the article in question was nowhere in sight. He wondered what Frenzy was planning to do – they were technically enemies, after all – while she poured him a glass of wine and offered it to him.

“It's a vintage 1989 Bordeaux,” Frenzy explained as she poured a glass for herself. “One of the best years for white Bordeaux wines on record.”

“Uh huh,” Ziv mumbled, looking at the glass, half-expecting it to be poisoned.

“It's not poisoned,” Frenzy assured him, sensing his skepticism. “Believe me, if I wanted to kill you – or anyone else for that matter – I would have done it by now. Poisoning is one of the most inefficient methods to kill, especially with the development of modern forensics which easily indicate when someone has ingested a toxic substance.”

“Can we swap glasses to be sure?” Ziv asked, grabbing a throw pillow from the other side of the couch to cover his nakedness.

“Be my guest,” Frenzy said, taking the glass intended for her visitor. “Also, don't dry hump my throw pillows. I already told said you were fine.”

Ziv reluctantly put the throw pillow to the side, took a sip of the wine (which his uninformed palate agreed was quite good), and wondered what Frenzy's endgame might be. His rational brain was telling him this had to be some kind of trick, while another part of him was just happy to be in her presence. He worried about what Frenzy meant when she said he was “fine” in his half-clothed state.

“Do Hiss or Paradim know I'm here?” Ziv said.

“Do you see either one of them here?” Frenzy said, raising an eyebrow. “This has nothing to do with anyone but you and I.”

Ziv was about to ask for clarification about what “this” was about, when Frenzy turned on the televiewer and loaded a file stored on a flash drive. The televiewer hard drive whirred, and showed a recording of Frenzy performing Jean Sibelius' _Violin Concerto_ with the Los Angeles Philharmonic that had occurred two years ago. He remembered the performance well, because the Corp had bought out a section of the auditorium and given a number of employees tickets, including him. While Ziv wasn't interested in classical music, he wasn't about to skip an opportunity to see Frenzy live and in person. Despite Ziv's ignorance of the classics, attending the performance was well worth his time, since he found that looking at Frenzy's hands executing all those difficult notes to be a massive turn-on, to say nothing about the revealing gown she had worn. Watching the performance again brought back all the carnal feelings that Frenzy's had playing created the first time.

“This performance was the culmination of a lifelong dream to perform Sibelius' _Violin Concerto_ ,” Frenzy said, admiring her skillful performance between sips of her wine. “At first, those dinosaurs in charge wouldn't let me do it because they didn't think I could handle it – and to be fair, they had good reason to be skeptical, since it's probably the hardest violin piece in the repertoire – and they thought it would be some cheap gimmick, but I certainly showed them. You can't fake the kind of talent I've got. Almost thirteen years of private tutoring, not to mention the masterclasses I've taken under assumed names over the years.”

Ziv didn't respond, because he was too busy staring at the ceiling, trying to think unsexy thoughts. He was painfully aware of an ache in his groin, and was praying to Einstein's god that Frenzy wouldn't notice the obvious erection he was sporting. Ziv was so wrapped up in himself, that he failed to notice that Frenzy was gradually inching closer to him, still providing a running commentary about the taped performance.

Once the performance reached the third movement, with its dazzling technical gymnastics, Ziv thought he was going to explode from horniness and embarrassment. He started looking around for his pants again, and as his back was turned, Frenzy pounced on him like a lioness on an injured gazelle.

At first Ziv was too shocked to do anything; when his libido started running, his brain had a tendency to go fuzzy, if not completely shut down. But even his rational brain (the small part that was still functional, at least) told Ziv not to fight, but respond in kind, as this was exactly what he dreamed of for more than ten years. If Ziv was a bit sharper, he might have had second thoughts about giving into temptation, as Frenzy's sudden could have been indicative of a plot to take him down while he was at his most vulnerable. But Ziv liked to think the best of everyone, especially when the someone in question was the woman he'd been fantasizing about for years.

“What's the source of the security leak in my office?” Frenzy asked between kisses.

“A computer program called Mirrorzz,” Ziv moaned, unaware of what he had just said. His primary concern – to the extent that Ziv was capable of rational thought – was about the mechanics of sex, not with what secrets might be babbling in a state of heightened passion. Ziv was well-versed in foreplay, because that was as far as he'd ever gotten with a woman, and wondered how he would handle the next step. Unfortunately for Ziv, the encounter didn't reach the intercourse stage, because Frenzy pushed him away from her once the music ended.

“Wh-what's the problem?” Ziv asked, afraid that she was put off by his inexperience.

“As enjoyable as this encounter has been so far,” Frenzy began, smoothing her mussed hair back into place. “It's time to get down to business.”

“There's an agenda?” Ziv said, feeling even more confused than usual.

“You might say that,” Frenzy said. “First of all, I should state that there is no Project Krang 2.0., so you don't have to worry about that. Second, I'm truly regretful for having to shock you, but I didn't have much a choice in the matter. Third, will you marry me?”

 


	3. The Hero Loves As Well As You

_Fear no danger to ensue,_

_The Hero Loves as well as you,_

_Ever gentle, ever smiling,_

_And the cares of life beguiling,_

_Cupid strew your path with flowers_

_Gather'd from Elysian bowers._

 

“What?” Ziv said, completely stunned by the unexpected direction his mission had taken.

Sensing Ziv's confusion, Frenzy laid out her dilemma in more detailed terms. “Let me be blunt. The Department of Justice, obviously bitter about the way the hearing ended, is threatening to deport me, because of some nonsense about an expired student visa. I need to marry an American citizen to stay, and I've picked you for this proud honor.”

“So this whole Project Krang 2.0 thing was just a trick to get me to come to RM Corp City?” Ziv said, the obvious finally dawning on him.

“Well, it's not like I could just pick up the phone or send an email, as if we were normal people” Frenzy said. “I had to use the communication options that were available to me. My first choice wouldn't have been to cover the windows, doors, and vents with stun shields, but I'd rather you not go through my personal belongings; you do have a history of taking and modifying things that don't belong to you.” Ziv suddenly noticed that he was almost completely naked – his shirt had been tossed on the floor and his boxers were halfway down his rear – while Frenzy looked disheveled, but was still fully clothed. _How did that happen_? Ziv thought as he hastily took his shirt off the floor and pulled his boxers up to a more respectable position.

“So you're not a citizen?” Ziv said, still trying to get a handle on what was going on and what he was being asked to do.

“No, I'm not,” Frenzy sighed, frustrated at his denseness. “I have an actual title recognized by the British government. The 'Lady' thing isn't just for show, although the proper form of address should really be 'Countess.' Not that most people care about those kinds of details.”

“So is Frenzy a first name or a last name?”

“Neither. Lady Frenzy is a sort of _nom de guerre_. Legally speaking, I'm Countess Diana LaFrenz, Sixteenth Countess of Grimleyshire, Oxfordshire, UK. However, I've spent the bulk of my life here, and since the Corp's main offices are in the US, it would behoove me to remain here for the foreseeable future.”

“Why couldn't you ask Bobby?” Ziv asked, remembering how cozy his fake friend Bobby Bosworth had been with Frenzy.

“Bobby who?”

“Bobby Bosworth.”

“Oh, _that_ Bobby,” Frenzy said, laughing a bit. “Don't worry about him. I was only interested in Bobby as a sex object.”

Ziv did a double take at her blunt admission. While Ziv was more than ready to experience sex for himself, he was a romantic at heart, and the idea of using someone for sex struck him as distasteful.

“But then he became controlling, possessive, demanding all sorts of things from me that I was never going to give him, ” Frenzy continued, sighing at the memories of that unhappy fling. “That's not going to work. I've got to be in charge, whether in the boardroom or the bedroom. Pretty soon, the whole thing turned into one of those fatal attractions. When it got too ugly, I called the cops on him, and got a restraining order. I have the police record in a closet somewhere if you care to look at it. I can dig it out, but it'll take a few minutes.”

“No, that's all right,” Ziv said hastily, trying to kickstart his brain and still wondering where his pants were.

“Besides, Bobby was just a pale substitute for you. Why go with cheap government issue margarine when you can have real butter?”

“I see,” Ziv said, although he was not at all sure what she meant.

“While we're on the subject of pale substitutes, are you still seeing, what's her face? That model? Alicia, I think he name was.”

“No, we broke up,” Ziv said, feeling a mixture of shame and embarrassment as he recalled the circumstances that led to the relationship's unfortunate demise.

“Well, it's probably just as well,” Frenzy said, who seemed quite happy with the news. “Modeling is a disgusting business, filled with fake smiles, plastic body parts, unrealistic standards, absurd feats of photoshop, and the constant stench of secondhand smoke, vomit, brittle bones, and desperation. Once you get involved in modeling, it's just a constant series of exploitation by people with extremely shady motivations.”

“People like you?” Ziv asked sarcastically.

“For example,” Frenzy said, not the least bit ashamed at the admission that she profited from a field she regarded as disgusting. “Something I learned early on, is that it's much better to be on the other side of the camera, making the decisions and getting the biggest cut of the profits, which is exactly what I do with my ownership of the House of Lebec, not to mention the Corp's modeling agency. Modeling as a career would be an insult to my considerable intelligence. Hedy Lamarr, another highly intelligent woman regarded as beautiful by some once said, 'Any girl can be glamorous. All you have to do is stand still and look stupid.' That's basically my take on it. I'm not going to waste my life looking stupid for pay. But back to the topic of Alicia. Could you really talk with Alicia about any of the things that really interested you? Or were you just forced to stick with pointless small talk to accommodate her limited mental vistas?”

“It wasn't that bad,” Ziv demurred, trying to be polite. “Alicia was really nice.”

“Nice girls are a dime a dozen,” Frenzy said. “Anybody can be nice. This may be hard to believe, but niceness is not a virtue. In many cases it can be a vice, or at the very least, a liability. A nice girl isn't what you need. You need someone who will challenge you. I may not be nice – and I'm quite upfront about that – but you can't say I haven't challenged during this unfortunate conflict that we've found ourselves in for the past year or so.”

“Yes, that's true,” Ziv said thoughtfully.

“And we find ourselves at an interesting crossroads right now,” Frenzy said, pleased to see that Ziv was coming around to her way of thinking. “In the sense that we're in a stalemate. The world domination thing isn't going to pan out, at least not from a political standpoint. Economically, the Corp is still on top, but after the Yvonne Iverson thing, no one is going to vote for LLP for World President. I realized this some months ago, but LLP is still clinging to some hope. I think it's time to end Project Krang and move on. While you've been quite successful with your guerrilla war against us, the possibility of you and your army achieving a complete victory over the Corp is unlikely. The outcome of the Department of Justice hearing shows that there's only so much you can do with your limited resources.”

“That entire hearing was a sham,” Ziv said, his old anger about the situation returning.

“The hearing wasn't a sham,” Frenzy replied calmly. “It was poorly orchestrated, because the government didn't have any witnesses or evidence, but still wanted to show me up as an example. Just because the hearing didn't end with the outcome you wanted doesn't make it a sham.”

“Did you kill all those guys in the Montrose crime family so they wouldn't testify against you?”

“No,” Frenzy said, sounding mildly annoyed. “They were killed by Los Etas, that Honduran drug gang. I know you probably think that we sit around at the Corp and commit crimes for the hell of it, but believe me, the Etas are the last group on earth I'd want to make an alliance with.”

“What about the Iverson family and their lawsuit?” Ziv pressed.

“I reasoned with Mrs. Todd-Iverson and made her realize that a public was not in her granddaughter's best interests, and offered her a fair settlement that would allow Yvonne to get on with the rest of her life,” Frenzy said, omitting the details about the sex tapes and the blackmail. “Anyway, as I was saying, I think this conflict between the Corp and the Zulanders needs to end. It's not working out for either of us. So if you take me up on this marriage offer, the Corp will drop all charges against you. It will be like the past year or so just never happened. Of course, you couldn't come back to work at the Corp – that would be quite awkward, wouldn't it? – but I could easily arrange for you to get a position at LF Tech, another one of the corporations I hold.”

“And what if I say no?”

“Why would you, though? If you say no, you just go back to your secret headquarters, lonely, single, still branded a fugitive, with only a pre-pubsecent sister and your various creations for company. And Blitzy would benefit too. She's already lost more than a year of school because of this conflict. With a few phone calls, I could easily get her into the best and most exclusive private school in the world. These sorts of unions between former enemies used to happen all the time. Even more conveniently, I don't come with the baggage of in-laws. No siblings, no parents, no extended family. Just me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” Ziv said, genuinely pained that she suffered from the loss of her parents.

“No need; they were very irresponsible,” Frenzy said, shocking Ziv with her cavalier attitude. “I know that there's been a lot of tit for tat retaliation coming from both sides. But there's no reason why we can't work past it...”

“What me and the BOYZZ did and what the Corp did are hardly the same,” Ziv interrupted. “You tried to kill me.”

“So did you,” Frenzy said.

“When?” Ziv said, genuinely baffled, since he had always prided himself on his insistence that humans not be harmed during his missions.

“I spent a week throwing up after you used unapproved biological warfare against me and then decided to toss me into a contaminated lake for reasons I have yet to fully understand,” Frenzy said pointedly, unwilling to tolerate any claims of victim-hood on Ziv's part. “And that's just one example. However, I won't dwell on it. In war, there are no innocents. It makes everyone engage in behavior that they wouldn't do under ordinary circumstances. I think if you stepped back and thought a bit harder about what you did, you wouldn't be up on your moral high horse, but there's time to discuss that later. This is why it's better at this point for both us of to just cut our losses and move forward into a new era.”

“I don't know if Blitzy would like it...” Ziv said, trying to imagine her rage when he told her about the new addition to the family.

“Would Blitzy approve of _anyone_ you brought home?” Frenzy asked shrewdly.

“Probably not,” Ziv admitted.

“Of course not,” Frenzy pressed. “You can't let a child continue to dictate your social life. If you wait around to find someone Blitzy approves of, you'll probably never get married, much less get a girlfriend. And while you could theoretically delay having children until you're a senior citizen, I think it's worth pointing out that the quality of male sperm starts to decrease around age twenty-six, which corresponds to your current age. If you want to sire the best children possible, you need to start right now, preferably with someone of exceptional talent and beauty, like myself. With our combined genes, our children would probably be like Niels Bohr.”

“What about Paradim?” Ziv said, doubtful that he would be any more accepting than Blitzy with regard to this proposed marriage.

“It's just a matter of explaining it correctly,” Frenzy assured him. In reality, Frenzy wasn't sure how to explain this new situation to Paradim, especially since he regarded Zulander as his arch-enemy, but she reasoned that if there was no conflict, there was no need to have an arch-enemy. “Any other questions you may have I conveniently outlined in this truth table.”

Frenzy handed Ziv a folded piece of paper from the coffee table, which revealed the intricate truth table that she had composed for just this occasion. “As you can see, logic dictates that marriage between ourselves is the only logically consistent option.”

As a robotics engineer, Ziv was accustomed to thinking in boolean logic, and truth table appealed to his scientific sensibilities. And when the situation was laid out so neatly and logically, how could Ziv refuse, especially if it meant that all of his problems – his war with the Corp, his questionable legal status, his desire for human companionship, and the end of his involuntary celibacy – could be solved in a single action.

“Okay, I agree to it,” Ziv said.

“Perfect,” Frenzy said, pleased that her scheme had worked exactly as she planned.

“So, uh, what happens now?' Ziv asked, hoping that they could resume their aborted make-out session.

“We go to sleep, but not to bed, if you catch the difference,” Frenzy replied, finishing her glass of wine. “The courthouse opens at 9AM and we've got to be there when it opens so we don't end up having to stand in line with the hoi polloi and deal with unnecessary media attention. There'll be plenty of time to go to bed later. If you want, you can take the bed and I'll just crash on the couch across from the bed. By the way, your pants and other personal effects are on a chair in the bathroom.”

Ziv went to the bathroom, disappointed about not getting to go to bed, but tired enough so that he didn't really care. He approached the chair in question that contained his uniform, neatly laundered and pressed; the jacket and bulletproof vest were draped over the back, while his helmet sat atop his folded pants on the seat. His clothing had been stripped of all the weapons, but his communicator remained in on of his pockets. Clearly, Frenzy expected him to inform someone of what had happened. Ziv took the communicator out and called Twigg.

“Twigg, are you there?” Ziv asked, staring at the marble checkerboard pattern on the floor tiles.

“I'm here buddy,” Twigg replied. “I've been hanging around outside the main gate for the past three hours to avoid detection by the security bots. I didn't know whether to call for back-up or not, but I knew you didn't want to raise a fuss because of the lull in our battle with the Corp.”

“It's good that you didn't call for backup because it's not needed,” Ziv replied. “There's been a... change of plan.”

“What do you mean?” Twigg said, sounding alarmed. “Have you been captured?”

“Not quite,” Ziv said, unsure of how he could explain, much less justify, what he had agreed to do. “Just go home for now, and tell Blitzy and the other BOYZZ not to worry. Everything will be clear in the morning.”

“Agreed,” Twigg said.

As Ziv terminated the call, he sank back onto the floor, excited and fearful for what the morning would bring.

 


	4. The Dart That's Dreadful to a Warrior's Heart

_Cupid only throws the dart_

_That's dreadful to a warrior's heart,_

_And she that wounds can only cure the smart._

 

After getting off the phone with Twigg, Ziv fell asleep almost immediately, cushioned on all sides by the luxury of the .01 percent. He had a strange series of dreams in which he was some kind of doll or marionette, and Blitzy and the BOYZZ were tugging on one side of his body while Frenzy was pulling the other. Before Ziv's dream self could be split in two, his real self was awaken by a rough shove. He blinked several times before his eyes settled upon Frenzy standing next to the bed, fully dressed, make-up and hair perfect. Ziv assumed that he was in another dream, until he slowly remembered what had happened the night before and what he had agreed to do.

“It's time to get up,” Frenzy said crispy. “I already filed the paperwork online. All we have to do is pick up the license at the Mega City-Greater Los Angeles County City Hall. Just put on what you wore last night, minus the weapons, of course.”

Frenzy led him to an underground level of the Corp Condo Complex filled with luxury cars of varying sorts, which Ziv assumed was the place where the residents stowed their vehicles. As it turned out, all the cars belong to Frenzy.

“I didn't even know you had other cars,” Ziv said. “I thought you just had your limo.”

“I have several hundred cars,” Frenzy answered, as she got behind the wheel. “I inherited most of them from an uncle who had a passion for fast cars, and you could say I picked up where he left off. When on I'm doing official Corp business, I use the limo – LLP thinks I drive too fast, because I learned to drive on the Autobahn where they don't have a speed limit, and doesn't like me driving – but when I'm off the clock and trying to be inconspicuous, I choose one of these.”

Ziv didn't think that driving a Porsche 911 was conducive to being inconspicuous, but as a connoisseur of machinery, he wasn't about to pass up a chance to take a spin in one. Curious to find out more about the woman he was about to be yoked to, Ziv asked, “When did you learn to drive on the Autobahn?”

“Maybe twenty-odd years ago,” Frenzy said diffidently, relishing being on the road.

“But that would mean you were five or six when you...”

“Yes, that sounds about right,” Frenzy interrupted. “Before you start judging me for having a premature start to my love affair with the automobile, I'd like to remind you that your equally underage sister routinely flew without a pilot's license and engaged in armed combat, the latter of which is in violation of a number of international treaties.”

That rejoinder prevented Ziv from prying further into Frenzy's background, although he was still curious to learn how she managed to get from driving on the Autobahn as a child to running the Corp. Instead, he sat back to enjoy the ride and resume thinking about how he could explain to Blitzy what was about to occur. Ziv was sure the BOYZZ would go along with anything that made him happy, but he couldn't see Blitzy ever approving of Lady Frenzy, Diana LaFrenz, or whatever alias the woman next to him preferred. Still, if Blitzy wasn't going to accept anyone he brought home, as Frenzy claimed (and Ziv believed to be true), why not go for the woman he wanted most?

When Frenzy and Ziv reached city hall, it was still relatively early, and the workers, both bot and human, were still getting ready for the day. She marched into the building and made her way purposefully to the county clerk's office, while Ziv trailed behind about five feet behind her.

“I'm here to get married and pick up my license,” Frenzy said to the clerical bot working the window at the county clerk's office. “I filled out the paperwork and made the appointment online.”

“Certainly,” the bot replied, checking its database, completely unaware of who the first customers of the day were.

The bot summoned its human superior, who did a double take when she saw who was waiting for her at the counter.

“You're Lady Frenzy!” the county clerk gasped.

“No, I'm Diana LaFrenz,” Frenzy replied, which was true from a strictly legal standpoint. “Lady Frenzy is my cousin. I have my British passport here that proves that I am who I say I am. Now can we get this ceremony started? I've got a full schedule today.”

Frenzy reached into her purse and handed the clerk the passport that indicated that the bearer was indeed Diana LaFrenz. The clerk alternated between gawking at the passport and staring at Frenzy, while Ziv stood off to the side, anxious and ignored.

“You'll need a witness, Ms...LaFrenz,” the clerk said, unsure of whether to believe her eyes or what Frenzy had told her. “Did you bring anyone with you?”

“Just get one of your co-workers,” Frenzy said. “I'm not particular.”

The clerk slowly backed away from Frenzy, as if she was afraid she might get shivved in the back, and ducked into a nearby cubicle. She re-emerged after five minutes with one of her assistants, who seemed as stunned as his superior about who was sitting in their office.

“So, um, I guess we should get started then, Ms. LaFrenz?” the clerk asked.

“Yes, we should,” Frenzy said, relieved that the ceremony was finally getting started.

“Do you have any vows or anything you'd like to use?” the assistant said.

“No, just do whatever it is that you usually do,” Frenzy said. “But leave out all the references to wives obeying husbands and anything involving the supernatural. Also, no pointless rambling on about having, holding, sickness, or death; it's a waste of time.”

“This is quite a stripped down affair, isn't it Ms. LaFrenz?” the clerk said. “No friends, no family, an secret ceremony so early in the morning?”

“I believe in getting things done as quickly as possible,” Frenzy said. “No fuss, no muss, no crowds, no pointless parties. Let's just get this over with.”

“Okay,” the clerk said, nervously clearing her voice. “What's the groom's name?”

“Ziv Zulander,” Ziv replied in a voice so small that he was barely audible.

“Say again?”

“Ziv Zulander,” Ziv reiterated in a slightly louder voice.

“Ziv Zulander?”

“He's not that Ziv Zulander,” Frenzy assured the clerk. “He just happens to have the same name.”

Both the clerk and the assistant were giving Frenzy and Ziv some serious side-eye, but the ceremony continued unabated.

“Do you, Ziv Zulander, take Diana LaFrenz to be your lawfully wedded wife?” the clerk said.

“Yes,” Ziv replied, thoughts of Blitzy's intense disapproval flooding his mind.

“Do you, Diana LaFrenz take Ziv Zulander to be your lawfully wedded husband?” the clerk said.

“Yes,” Frenzy said, impatiently looking at the clock that was opposite to her on the wall.

“Do you have the rings?” the assistant/witness said.

“Right here,” Frenzy said, pulling a small box covered in worn blue felt from her purse. She opened it to reveal two rings, one an ornate women's ring encrusted with alternating diamonds and sapphires and the other a thick men's ring that seemed to have gothic writing etched into it.

“Where did you get the rings?” Ziv asked, taking the ring presumably meant for himself.

“I inherited them,” Frenzy said. “I certainly wasn't going to trust you to choose any jewelry, given that the last time you did so you tried to gain unlawful access to my mind.”

Ziv recoiled like he'd been smacked at the reminder of his past duplicity. Although he still believed he was justified in using the mind control necklace on Frenzy, her sharp words reminded him that the two of them had some issues to sort out.

“By the power vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you man and wife,” the clerk said.

Ziv was about to go in for what he assumed would be the customary post-vow kiss, but he found himself kissing the air, as Frenzy was waiting for the clerical bot to print out the marriage license. Frenzy signed her name in the appropriate places and beckoned Ziv to do the same. As soon as the license was properly signed and notarized by the clerk, Frenzy shoved several $100 bills in the hands of the clerk and her assistant and left the building, with Ziv once again trailing behind in her wake.

“I'm glad that's over,” Frenzy said once they got back to the Porsche. “But you seem somewhat off.”

“I feel kind of disappointed,” Ziv admitted. “I always imagined that my wedding would be more...romantic than picking up paperwork at the courthouse.”

“That's where you're wrong,” Frenzy said, revving up her Porsche's engine. “Believe me, nothing is more romantic than a binding legal contract. It was all laid out by Hegel back in the nineteenth century.”

Frenzy then proceeded to explain to Ziv why a bureaucratic stamp of approval for one's personal life was the highest form of romanticism, throwing around a lot of words that he didn't understand like _bürgerliche Gesellschaft_ _,_ _politische Gesinnung_ _,_ and other dense Hegelian concepts. Ziv was used to being the smartest person in the room and didn't like to be reminded that there were fields of knowledge in which he was deficient, but Frenzy's brilliance intrigued him in a way that he had never been by anyone of either sex.

“Didn't you learn German?” Frenzy asked when she noticed Ziv's blank reaction to her speech on Hegelian governmental theory. “I thought scientists had to learn scientific German.”

“I think that was the case during the Cold War, but not today,” Ziv said. “I took a couple of years of Spanish ages ago, and that was it.”

“I guess I shouldn't be surprised,” Frenzy said. “Americans tend to be tragically monolingual. No matter. There's still time to learn.”

German wasn't something Ziv ever thought he'd need, but he was the type of person who desperately wanted the approval of others (a trait Ziv unknowingly shared with Frenzy's late father), and decided that he would put language learning on his bucket list.

*

The next stop on Frenzy's tour was Paradim's mansion, which she hadn't visited since her boss and mentor had told her to solve her immigration issues on her own. Although Frenzy was confident that she could broker a truce between Paradim and her new husband, Ziv was less sure about the wisdom of this meeting; the last time he had been in Paradim's mansion had been to tweak the doomed tooth receiver, and he had done quite a bit of damage while he was there. That alone would be enough for Paradim to blast him on the spot. Once they passed through the heavily fortified gates of Paradim's mansion, Ziv's mouth went dry and he felt like he was about to throw up. Frenzy showed no such fear, and strode confidently into the massive house with Ziv trailing behind.

“Hello, LLP,” Frenzy called as she entered the living room. “It's me. I have something to discuss with you.”

Some incoherent mumbling came from another part of the house, and Paradim (who was still dressed in his rank smoking jacket and tattered slippers) slowly padded out to meet his unexpected guests. Paradim seemed uninterested in Frenzy's presence, but upon seeing Ziv, his jaw dropped in an expression of the most pure form of shock and hatred.

“I've been doing a lot of thinking, LLP,” Frenzy began, before Paradim could bombard her with a bunch of questions about her guest. “And I realized that given the changed circumstances we find ourselves in, we need to just to end this feud with Zulander.”

Said Zulander waved a hand weakly, while Paradim stared at the young man like he was a sack of manure Frenzy had impudently deposited in the middle of his living room.

“The truth is that both of us are at an impasse,” Frenzy continued. “The fallout from the Yvonne Iverson scandal is such that a successful bid for World President is highly unlikely to occur. I'd vote for you in a minute, of course, but I'm not everyone. The media cycle is such that people forget these scandals after a certain period of time has elapsed, but we aren't at that point yet. Once the Corp regains its reputation – and I'm certain it will – we can return to discussing the possibility of a run for World President.”

Frenzy waited to see if this statement would anger Paradim, but he remained silent, with a pensive expression on his face, eyes darting wildly between her and Ziv.

“Similarly, Zulander is not going to be able to defeat us, clever as he may be. He understands that, isn't that right?”

“Yes,” Ziv said, like a dim-witted pupil telling his teacher what she wanted to hear.

“Exactly,” Frenzy agreed. “So both sides need to just cut their losses and manage some kind of truce.”

“How did you get Zulander to come here?” Paradim said.

“I formulated a plan, and executed it successful,” Frenzy said. “The details aren't important, though. What matters is that we forge a new path into the future. I said the Corp would drop all charges against the Zulanders in exchange for a cessation of hostility, and if he agreed to marry me.”

Unsurprisingly, Frenzy's last six words caused Paradim's face to contort into an expression of pure rage, and Ziv was convinced that after surviving countless missions unscathed, he was going to be struck down then and there in a crime of quasi-platonic passion.

“You told me to solve my immigration problem myself and I did,” Frenzy shrugged, remaining calm in face of Paradim's growing anger.

“What do you mean 'did'?” Paradim interrupted, looking Frenzy and Ziv with a renewed look of suspicion. “That's the past tense.”

“Before we came here, we made a detour at the courthouse,” Frenzy explained. “It was very Hegelian. Besides, if we're not at war with the Zulanders, there shouldn't be a problem. If we look at history, we often find political alliances between former enemies sealed with a marriage. Think of it in terms of Philip II of Spain's marriage of Mary I of England.”

“The part where Philip married his first cousin or the part where Mary died childless?” Paradim asked, voice dripping with sarcasm. Ziv had no idea who the Philip and Mary in question were, and remained silent, locking his gaze on a modernist painting on the wall.

“I was thinking more in terms of the concept than the details,” Frenzy said, undeterred in the face of her mentor's clear disapproval. “Besides, this is all good publicity for us. The American public loves weddings. It feeds into their Pollyanna-ish view on life. The Europeans love a good aristocratic marriage too, especially if it involves a 'regular person.' We could market tea towels and other merchandise like they do with the British royal family.” Frenzy knew that Paradim wasn't one to put a grudge behind him, but she hoped that his interest in the Corp's bottom line would trump his need for revenge, and she could tell the wheels in his brain were turning, albeit a bit slowly.

“Fine,” Paradim sighed, sounding resigned at the news. “You're right. I just don't have the energy to deal with Project Krang anymore, and we don't have the political capital to implement it anymore. I suppose we should send out some kind of statement to the media about this...marriage.”

“You don't have to worry about that, because I already wrote a statement that you're going to read at the 11 o'clock press conference I arranged,” Frenzy said, pulling a stack of papers out of her purse and handing them to Paradim as she got up from her chair.

“Where are _you_ going?” Paradim said, with more than a touch of disdain.

“To the Corp's private airport,” Frenzy said. “I'm going to use some of the vacation time I never use to honeymoon at Whigby Hall. Come along, Ziv”

With that, Frenzy took her leave, with Ziv following behind her like the lovestruck fool he was. Paradim stared at Frenzy's recently departed chair, unsure whether he should hate her for her eagerness to hop into bed with a man he still regarded as his arch-enemy or marvel at her wiliness. He chose the latter, because it was impossible for him to be truly angry with her, and he understood on an intellectual level the need to move beyond the Zulander conflict, even if his heart wanted nothing more than the throttle the young man who had thwarted his dreams of world domination.

 _Maybe if Frenzy had been allowed to talk to Zulander first as she always wanted, we could have avoided this entire conflict_ , Paradim thought ruefully, as he idly scanned the statement he was supposed to deliver in less than an hour.

 


	5. The Feeble Stroke of Destiny

 

_Aeneas has no fate but you!_

_Let Dido smile and I'll defy_

_The feeble stroke of Destiny._

 

“I should probably call Blitzy,” Ziv said, as the Corp's supersonic private jet reached cruising altitude. “I don't think she should learn about this from the televiewer.”

“I suppose not,” Frenzy said. “Go to the business center; I'm not interested in overhearing what I'm sure will be a dramatic conversation with lots of baseless accusations directed at 'that woman.'”

Ziv got up from his seat, and went into a large conference room with his communicator. The room had a distinct masculine air to it, with oak paneling, expensive but utilitarian brown leather chairs, and panoramic wildlife paintings, which lead Ziv to believe that it had been designed to fit Paradim's aesthetic tastes. As the phone rang, Ziv looked at the painting of a pride of lions hanging opposite to where he was sitting, and hoped that he could summon the lion's boldness for the ensuing conflict.

“ZZ, are you okay?” Blitzy implored, her voice full of concern. “Twigg said that you and he went on a mission, but you never came back...”

“I'm fine, Blitz,” Ziv assured her.

“Where are you?”

“Well, I have some good news and some...unusual news. The good news is that our war with the Corp is finally over. I brokered a peace during the mission last night.”

“Really?” Blitzy sounded elated. “Does this mean I can go back to school?”

“Yeah, but not at the Corp school,” Ziv said. “We'll have to discuss your school situation when I get back.”

“Get back from where?” Blitzy asked.

“Grimleyshire. It's a little town in England.”

“What for? What's there?”

“It's near Oxford University.”

“Are you doing research?”

“Not quite...”

“Then why?”

“Well, you see,” Ziv stammered, cursing himself for his inability to just state outright that he had married Frenzy to get the charges against them dropped. “To get the Corp to end the war, I had to agree to something.”

“Agree to what?”

Ziv continued to beat around the bush for about five minutes, until he heard the televiewer blaring in the background to announce that a special report was about to air.

“ZZ, did you know Paradim is holding some kind of press conference?” Blitzy said. “What's it about?”

“Yeah, about that...” Ziv could hear Paradim's familiar voice droning softly, although he couldn't make out the words. He knew it would only be a matter of time before Paradim mentioned the marriage, and he braced himself for the inevitable fury.

“You married that woman?” Blitzy screeched, the volume of her impassioned cry so loud that the steward bots looked in the conference room to check on Ziv.

“That was part of the bargain for getting the charges dropped” Ziv omitted the details about Frenzy's expired student visa, since he assumed correctly that Blitzy would have no concern or sympathy for his new wife's immigration problems.

“Didn't you think this could be a trap?” Blitzy lectured him. “Do I even need to remind you of all the times your stupid infatuation with Frenzy almost got you killed.”

“That's over now,” Ziv said. “You saw Paradim say that the war is over and he's going to drop the charges. We even met with him.”

“And...?”

“He wasn't happy about it, if that's what you mean, but he understood the need to stop the war. This is a great chance for all of us to start over.”

“Those bandits at the Corp shouldn't be 'starting over,' they should be in prison,” Blitzy fumed.

“I got them to end Project Krang, and that's what we wanted from the start,” Ziv insisted. “If there was anything they could be indicted for, the government would have done it, and you saw what happened at the DOJ hearings. It's not like we ever gathered any forensic evidence on any of our missions.”

“So you're just going to ignore everything that woman did? Like none of it ever happened?”

“No, but you have to look at the bigger picture...”

“There is no bigger picture!” Blitzy shouted and slammed the phone down in a huff.

Ziv sighed, and wondered how he would ever be able to smooth things over with Blitzy. She was the only family he had, and the thought of being permanently estranged from her was a terrifying thought. However, Blitzy was only eleven, and still viewed life through the lens of a child. She didn't understand his desire for physical intimacy or to start a family of his own, or to get back into the scientific world to restart his career. If he could convince Blitzy that Frenzy was a decent person – or at least, not as bad as previously believed – that would be a major breakthrough in and of itself. But Ziv concluded that it was best for Blitzy to have some time to herself to be angry, and then they could discuss the future together in a more rational manner.

Ziv left the conference room and rejoined Frenzy in the main cabin, which looked more like a bar at a trendy restaurant than the interior of an airplane.

“Done?” Frenzy asked, not taking her eyes off the book she was reading, which was her trusty Seneca book in the original Latin.

“How many times was the phrase 'that woman' used?”

“At least once.”

Frenzy was unsurprising that the news of her recent nuptials had gone over poorly with Blitzy, but decided that it didn't matter, since the girl would soon be shipped off to boarding school and she wouldn't have to deal with her tweenage petulance. All she knew was that everything was finally coming together for Diana LaFrenz.

*

The flight from Mega City/Los Angeles to London was about five hours by supersonic jet, and Ziv felt like he was going to drop when Frenzy told him the trip to Grimleyshire would necessitate a ninety minute drive. He was relieved when Frenzy told him that her personal driver would meet them when they landed. Sure enough, a distinguished and smartly dressed older man met the two as they departed from the tarmac.

“Ziv, this is Mr. Peter Ferguson, the head butler at Whigby Hall,” Frenzy said. “He always picks me up when I'm in England. I arranged to give him a security pass to the Corp's private airport in the UK.”

“How do you do, Mr. Zulander?” Mr. Ferguson said, bowing in such a way that made Ziv feel embarrassed.

“Fine, sir,” Ziv said, unsure of the proper manner of address. Mr. Ferguson gestured to the waiting car, which was the same vehicle that had picked ten-year old Diana LaFrenz up from Heathrow Airport almost sixteen years ago.

The ride to Grimleyshire passed by quickly, as Frenzy spent the time detailing the history of her ancestral seat to her rapt audience of one. Ziv had never considered history or architecture to be particularly interesting before, but he felt like he could listen to her talk about Whigby Hall's loggia for hours without being tired. Before Ziv knew it, the car came to a stop in the carriage house, and Frenzy beckoned him to follow her into the house proper.

“Here we are,” Frenzy said, surveying her fiefdom approvingly. “Whigby Hall. Over a hundred rooms, and one bathroom.”

“What?”

“It's a joke,” Frenzy assured him. “Of course, there's more than one bathroom. Whigby Hall was retrofitted with indoor plumbing back in the 1960s. Rather late, but better late than never.”

“I didn't even know people still lived this way,” Ziv said, examining the splendors of Whigby Hall in a state of awe.

“They generally don't,” Frenzy replied. “The taxes on this place are exorbitant, which is why so many of the stately homes were sold to the government after World War II. Fortunately, I have so much money coming that I can not only pay all the taxes comfortably, but keep on an all-human staff.”

“Really? I thought all that kind of work was being done by bots these days.”

“Don't you think it would be a bit...alienating being only human on a thousand acre estate?”

“I suppose.” Ziv was quite used to being surrounded by his BOYZZ at his underground hideout, but unlike conventional 3As, they were capable of independent thought and creativity. His beloved CalTech mentor, Dr. Borenstein, lived exclusively among bots in the Incan ruins of Peru, but he doubted that most people would be happy with that lifestyle. “So you grew up here?”

“Sort of,” Frenzy said. “I didn't come here for the first time until I was ten.”

“Where were you before then?” Ziv asked.

“Oh look, we're in the gallery of all the earls of Grimleyshire,” Frenzy said, abruptly changing the subject. “All of them from Sir Robert LaFrenz during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I to me on the end. All that history in just sixteen portraits. In true Elizabethan fashion, I think Sir Robert spelled his last name LaFirenze or something like that. Very Norman, I'd say.”

“I didn't bring anything with me but yesterday's clothes,” Ziv said, recognizing that she wasn't going to answer his question. “That and the ad hoc tourist visa you gave me. Should I go into town and get some stuff?” While obtaining permanent residency cards might have been difficult, getting a travel visa from the Corp was ridiculously easy because of all the international travel mid and upper level Corp employees had to do, and Frenzy only needed to pick one up from the appropriate office and fill it in with Ziv's information; being associated with such a large and well-organized corporation certainly had its perks.

“No matter,” Frenzy said. “You look like you could fit into Uncle Michael's clothes.”

“Oh,” Ziv said. “Where is he now?”

“Dead, of course,” Frenzy replied casually. “I mentioned I was the only LaFrenz left. Fortunately, the LaFrenz family cemetery is located elsewhere at Whigby Hall, so you can meet him later.”

Ziv was a bit taken back by the possibility of wearing a dead man's clothes, as well as the idea of having the dead residing so close to the living, but decided that there shouldn't be a problem, so long as the deceased hadn't died in the clothes in question. Frenzy lead Ziv through a series of winding hallways and passageways filled with paintings from the old masters, valuable antiquities, and taxidermied animals that made him feel like he was in a museum, rather than a home where flesh and blood people lived out their daily business. Ziv assumed he was on some kind of house tour, but the when they reached an ornately decorated bedchamber, he realized that any further lessons in history or architecture were have to wait for another time.

“This is the master bedroom,” Frenzy explained. “It used to belong to my grandfather, who was the previous Earl of Grimleyshire.” It also happened to be the same room that he died in, but Frenzy neglected to mention this fact, since she assumed that the age of Whigby Hall was such that someone had probably died in – or alternately, been born in – every room of the house at some point in time. With this in mind, Frenzy figured that the best way to exorcise any remaining demons she might have about the room or the death of the Commodore in general was with a “sexual re-christening” of the place where he expired.

“It's very nice,” Ziv said, admiring the military paraphernalia that covered the walls. Before Ziv could get too involved with his examination of the yellowed and faded “Tall Ships of the British Navy” calendar from 2016, Frenzy pushed him onto the bed, kissing him violently. Once she had him on his back, Frenzy straddled him and pulled off his clothes, as she continued her aggressive show of physical affection. At first, Ziv just lay there for a bit, almost in a state of shock, but as his rational brain gradually gave way to his reptilian brain, he finally began to reciprocate Frenzy's affections.

“You don't know how long I've wanted this, Frenzy,” Ziv said, as he elevated himself slightly to kiss her neck.

“Call me Diana,” Frenzy whispered.

*

The next morning, Diana sipped her morning tea in the breakfast nook in a state of post-coital satisfaction. Ziv, tired out from the previous day's activities, sexual and otherwise, was still sleeping. Diana had the distinct impression that Ziv had never had sex before last night, which was a bit strange, but something that she could use to her advantage. Ziv was coming to her as a sexual blank slate with no preferences of his own, but eager to make up for lost time, and more importantly, eager to please. Despite his lack of prior experience, they seemed to be more than sexuality compatible; she liked giving orders, he liked following them, and he could easily be molded to fit her own likes and dislikes.

As Diana mused about the joys of married carnality, one of the lower butlers came in and announced, “Dr. Ziv Zulander to see the Countess of Grimleyshire.”

“Thank you,” Diana answered. “Send him in.”

The butler ushered Ziv, who was dressed in one of Michael LaFrenz's grey morning suits, and looking somewhat embarrassed, unused to the formality that governed life at Whigby Hall. However, from Diana's perspective, the suit made him look even sexier, and the fact that he didn't even realize it increased the effect.

_It's a shame more men don't dress in formal suits_ , Diana thought, as she undressed Ziv with her eyes. _It's so much sexier than jeans and t-shirts._

Diana was sitting at one end of a long rectangular table that was supposed to seat about ten people, and the butler seated Ziv at the other end. The table (and the entire house, really) was designed for days long past, when the residents of Whigby Hall had large families and entertained a constant stream of royal and aristocratic visitors; even when the Commodore was alive, the two LaFrenz would sit at opposite ends of the table and shout at each other, never imagining that Diana might sit closer to the Commodore or vice versa. After the butler left, Ziv got up, went to the other end of the table, and sat at the chair to Diana's right. She was unnerved by his closeness, since it went against the way things had traditionally been done at Whigby Hall, but then again, so was her marriage to a middle-class American. Things were changing in unexpected ways, but at least Diana could feel secure that it was all being controlled by her.


	6. Go Revel, Ye Cupids, The Day is Your Own

 

_To the hills and the vales, to the rocks and the mountains_

_To the musical groves and the cool shady fountains._

_Let the triumphs of love and of beauty be shown,_

_Go revel, ye Cupids, the day is your own._

 

 

The next month passed by in a blur of ravenous sex intermixed with exclusions into Grimleyshire or explorations of the various nooks and crannies of Whigby Hall. The bulk of Diana's extensive car collection was stored at Whigby Hall, ranging from an armored Mgebrov-Renault to an ugly but oddly endearing Trabant. Most of the cars weren't street legal because of their age, so Diana and Ziv would race them around the specially built track Michael LaFrenz had built in the 1980s specifically for this purpose. Although Ziv could have easily built faster, safer, and more aerodynamic cars on the Bots Assembly Line, there was something exhilarating about about tooling around in a 1911 Stanley Steemer touring car, to say nothing of the candy apple red Ferrari California Spyder for which Diana had a particular fondness. Both Diana and Ziv would both remember this period as one of the best in their respective lives, as they envisioned the possibility of a shared life in a new era of peace.

During his stay at Whigby Hall, Ziv noticed that there was a clear difference between Diana LaFrenz and Lady Frenzy. The haughtiness, aloofness, and general bitchiness that Ziv associated with Frenzy was absent in Diana's interactions with the staff at Whigby Hall. Although her relationship to them was that of employer to employees, many of the staff, especially Mr. Ferguson, seemed to think of her more like a favorite niece than a boss. Similarly, Diana was relaxed and familiar with the servants, a marked difference from the air of icy condescension of Lady Frenzy holding court at the Corp. When the two ventured into Grimleyshire, the townspeople (who, unlike Ziv, knew all about Diana's “wicked parents”) bent over backwards to be nice to her, not just because of her elevated social standing, but because they genuinely liked her.

While Diana LaFrenz may have been nicer in certain aspects than Lady Frenzy, occasionally the devil that was common to both personas would shine through. For example, the day after their arrival at Whigby Hall, Diana asked if she could tie Ziv's arms to the corners of the master bed before he got dressed for the morning. Ziv, assuming that some kind of sexual play was to follow, agreed to Diana's suggestion without given it much thought. Using some old but still intact rock climbing rope, she tied his hands tight to the bedposts using bowline knots. Ziv was about to ask Diana where she learned to tie a bowline, when she abruptly left the room, leaving him naked and tied to the bed, with only a bit of sheet for modesty. He tried to free himself to no avail, as knot typing seemed to be another one of Diana's many talents.

Minutes passed, and then hours. Belinda, Diana's personal chambermaid, came into the room and cleaned up a bit, making the bed up while Ziv happened to be in it, studiously ignoring him and his unfortunate plight. Ziv was too embarrassed to ask Belinda where Diana was, and simply stared at the ceiling, while the maid did her job. Once Belinda left, Ziv was left alone to ponder why Diana was humiliating him like this. He turned his head to the left and found himself looking at a black and white picture of a man in a naval uniform and an eye patch. The man looked very much like a male version of Diana, to the extent that Ziv could imagine her in a gender swapped form. _Is that her father_? Ziv thought. _Or maybe grandfather; she said this used to be his room._

Ziv looked around the room and saw that it was covered with black and white photographs of people with a marked resemblance to Diana: tall, blond, and impossibly attractive. He remembered how Diana had said she was the last of her line, yet clearly at one point there had been quite a few LaFrenzes. What had happened to decimate the LaFrenzes?

About three hours later, Diana finally returned, carrying a bag that read “Ploughman's Stamp Supply Store,” and several other unmarked bags.

“I went to Mr. Ploughman down at the stamp store and finally got some mint specimens of those Wagner stamps from Nazi Germany,” Diana said brightly, as if having one's husband tied up for three hours was a normal occurrence. “Even better, at the auction house in Oxford, I hit paydirt and got the 'Holy Grail,' you might say.”

Reaching into one of her other bags, Diana proudly brandished a stock book sheet that contained a single blue and white stamp depicting an upside down biplane.

“It's the Inverted Jenny,” Diana explained, as Ziv stared blankly at her new acquisition. “I paid about 1.5 million pounds for it, but I make that kind of money just by breathing, so it's hardly a sacrifice...”

“When are you going to let me go?” Ziv demanded, before Diana could continue droning about her stamps.

“I'm getting to it.”

“I thought this was some kind of sex game.”

“S&M isn't my thing, ” Diana replied laconically. “However, I must say you look quite delicious tied up like that. If you hadn't already been tied up for over three hours, I'd do some life sketches of you, but I suppose it's time to free you. Maybe rope play is something we should look into... But for the most part, S&M is nothing but fantasy, a pale substitute for the kind of political and economic power I can wield in the real world. I don't think S&M would suit you either; you seem far too sensitive.”

“Then why did you do it? Ziv demanded.

“To prove a point,” Diana said, staring at him intently. She was smiling, but eyes had that hard steely look that Ziv remembered from Mirrorzz when she was cooking up some scheme for world domination.

“Which is?”

“Do you remember that time when you sprayed me with some kind of biochemical agent and then threw me in Lake Satchel and just left me there?”

“Yeah...”

“Now we're even.” Diana came over towards the bed, and untied the ropes restraining his hands. “I hope this clears things up between us.”

“Yes,” Ziv replied, even though he wondered if she was going to subject him to more punishments to avenge all the perceived slights she had suffered. He moved his hands back and forth, grateful to finally be free.

“Good,” Diana said, the edges of her lips turning upward, as she realized she had won. “Now put on your suit.”

“Why were you out buying old stamps?” Ziv said, as he put on a pair of trousers. Diana was watching him dress, which unnerved him. True, he had ogled her dozens of times on Mirrorzz without her knowledge, but this was completely different. _He_ had been observing her to save the world from tyranny, whereas _she_ was merely objectifying him.

“The stamp collection was started by my grandfather when he was a child, and he had hoped that his children would continue working on it. Of course, they didn't, so it fell upon me to do keep it going. Stamp collecting is very meditative; I think more people should do it, though I suppose most people think it's too old fashioned. I bet if you showed a postal stamp to the average child, they probably wouldn't even know what it is.”

“Who's the guy in the photograph? Your father?”

“No...you could say my father was a lover not a fighter. That's my grandfather when he was much younger, stationed in British Palestine. He fought in the Battle of the Mediterranean during World War II, and after that he was stationed in British Palestine before the UN partition.”

“My great-grandparents were kibbutzim then. Wouldn't it be odd if they met somehow?”

“I have a feeling British naval officers weren't rubbing shoulders with kibbutzim, especially in the late 1940s.” Diana wondered if one of Ziv's ancestors had been involved with the bombing of the King David Hotel. If so, the proverbial apple really didn't fall that far from the tree.

“Who are all the people in these photographs?

“Mostly my grandfather's children, though others are of his aunts and uncles.”

“What happened to them?”

“The former were mostly killed by reckless living, while the latter were killed in a small event called World War I.”

Ziv could tell that this line of questioning was irritating Diana, so he changed the subject to something more neutral. “Where did you learn to tie a bowline knot?”

“My grandfather. His hands were too gnarled by arthritis to show me himself, but he talked me through it. He said that everyone should know how to tie proper knots, as opposed to putting these useless bowtie knots everywhere. Well, the day's still young; let's get to the racetrack.”

Ziv hastily finished tying his tie, and followed Diana out of the room.

*

Devil or not, Ziv was completely crazy about Diana, a feeling that only intensified the longer he stayed at Whigby Hall. From Ziv's perspective, Diana was the most interesting person he'd ever met, with a voluminous knowledge about almost everything, from literature to mathematics. Ziv learned many things from Diana: sex, the delights of British-style marmalade, the varied types of male formal wear, how to eat with a full cutlery set, opera, classic literature, and much more. He considered her to be somewhat like Whigby Hall; a vast manor house with many rooms, each one more opulent and awe-inspiring than the last.

One thing Ziv didn't learn much about was Diana's past. While she had no problem talking about her tenure at the Corp – the good, the bad, and the illegal – as well as her grandfather and her dead “boys” from World War I, she tended to be vague about what she had done before joining the Corp, mentioning that she had gone to Oxford and Stanford at an unusually young age, but not providing any details. Anything regarding her early childhood was completely off limits. Occasionally, Diana threw out a few crumbs for Ziv, usually after sex when she was in a good mood, which only increased his curiosity.

“Why didn't you get a PhD in mathematics?” Ziv asked Diana after she regaled him with an extended post-coital monologue on the Corona theorem. It was the third time they'd had sex that day, and it was only 3:30 in the afternoon, but Diana justified this extravagance by the intellectual pursuits they engaged in when they weren't in the bedroom.

“It was my intention to,” Diana began. “But my grandfather's health began to decline after I finished my masters', so I put my PhD plans on hold to look after him.”

“That's really nice of you,” Ziv said, causing Diana to wince at the mention of the hated “n-word.”

“It wasn't 'nice,'” Diana interjected. “I was just doing what I was just fulfilling my filial duty.”

“A lot of adults wouldn't drop everything to take care of an aging relative,” Ziv said admiringly. “That's a huge burden to place on a teenager.”

“Not really,” Diana said. “You see the kind of staff we have here at Whigby Hall, so I had a lot of help, in addition to the services the NHS provides. Besides, given the way the Oxbridge system is set up to perpetuate aristocratic privilege, I can show up whenever I want and continue my studies. I'll get back to it eventually.”

“But you went to Stanford...”

“That was to get a law degree. It was suggested that it might be useful later on at the Corp.” Diana didn't elaborate on the identity of the person who encouraged her to study law, assuming that Ziv would know she was talking about Paradim.

“How did you end up at the Corp?”

“It sort of just happened. I never envisioned myself going into business, but sometimes these things are just thrust upon you, whether you want it or not.”

“How?”

“Look, the past is the past, and there's nothing that can be done about it.” Diana's tone made it clear that she had no intention of continuing this conversation, but Ziv was too curious to let the matter rest.

“What happened to your parents?”

“I told you they're dead,” Diana said, clearly unnerved by the question. “Didn't you see the tombstones in the cemetery?” Perhaps in an effort to make up for lost time, Diana had been going to the cemetery several times a day, with Ziv tagging along as an interested bystander. She spent most of her time at the war monument and her grandfather's grave, completely ignoring the shared grave that Ziv correctly assumed belonged to her parents, which confused him.

“That must have been hard for you.”

“Not really. Tommy and Sophie were an example of everything that's wrong with the world.”

“You called your parents by their first names?”

“Sometimes. The alternative would be to refer to them as the late Lord and Lady LaFrenz, although I think Viscount LaFrenz may actually be the proper form of address.”

“Isn't that a bit...formal?”

“As opposed to what?”

“As opposed to mom and dad?”

“To use such terms would imply some sort of tender relationship, which didn't exist. Like sea turtles, they spawned indiscriminately, and then abandoned me in the metaphorical sand. I don't even know why the Commodore let that bitch Sophie into our cemetery. Since she was the last of her family, I suppose there was no one in France to take her, but that's why we have Potter's Field, to take the people no one else wants.”

“Don't you have any happy memories of your parents?”

“No, which is why I make of point of not thinking about them,” Diana said, getting out of bed to get dressed in a new outfit. Aristocratic tradition dictated changing clothes three to five times a day, a habit that Diana had maintained throughout her life without question, but one that struck Ziv as odd and excessive. Nonetheless, he realized that getting anyone at Whigby Hall to change their ways would be an exercise in futility, and he went along with the wardrobe changes without voicing any complaints. “Well, there was that one time...but in retrospect, it probably wasn't that great and it was only Tommy. I only spoke to that woman who gave birth to me three times.”

“Just three?”

“I really shouldn't have tried to initiate conversation that third time, but I was young and didn't know any better. Such is life. The only thing I gained from being in their presence was an immense dislike of Louis XV furniture, Duran Duran, monkeys, and 99.9 percent of the people who comprise the so-called one percent. Actually, I take that back. Tommy did teach me how to dance and play poker, both of which are remarkably useful skills when networking. You said you wanted to look at some of Thomas LaFrenz III's scientific works, so let's get going to the library.”

As Ziv cherished his own memories of his late parents, and couldn't imagine having such resentment towards them, much less calling his mother a bitch. Diana, for her part, didn't understand why Ziv was so insistent on prying into her past. Although she understood intellectually that it was normal and healthy for one's spouse to take an interest in oneself, her own traumatic past was such that she didn't want anyone to know about it, not even Ziv. She was convinced that someone like Ziv, whose outlook was mixed with an extreme naivete matched with uncompromising idealism, could never understand her pain or the circumstances that led her to the Corp.

While Diana herself was not forthcoming about her past, Ziv was able to gain vital information from the servants.

“Are you enjoying yourself here, Dr. Zulander?” Mr. Ferguson asked him several hours after he questioned Diana about her pre-Corp life. Ziv was in the library, looking at some books written by Thomas LaFrenz III, the fourteenth earl of Grimleyshire who had been a noted scientist in the nineteenth century, while Diana went to the cemetery.

“Very much so, sir,” Ziv answered politely. “Do you know anything about the Countess' parents?”

Mr. Ferguson grimaced and replied, “The late Thomas LaFrenz and his wife were...not known to be the most upstanding citizens. It is my understanding that they did not raise the Countess themselves, which given their manner of living, was probably for the best.”

Ziv took in this and wondered what Mr. Ferguson was referring to. He knew one could also say that Diana was not a terribly upstanding citizen, but he got the distinct impression that her parents had done something besides engage in unethical business dealings and political manipulation.

“I thought her grandfather raised her, sir.”

“Not really. The Countess didn't come here until she was ten, and was already practically grown. Fully formed, you might say, like Athena from Zeus' skull.”

“Where was she before?”

“With some kind of tutor or something in America. The government discovered that she and the tutor were in the country illegally and deported them both. We here at Whigby Hall didn't even know the Countess existed until the American immigration office contacted us. I really shouldn't be telling you this; it's not my place to reveal this information.”

“Can you just tell me what exactly her parents did? I won't let her know that I know.”

Mr. Ferguson looked around furtively before saying, “All right. I suppose if you're espoused to the Countess you should know, but you didn't hear it from me. The late Thomas LaFrenz VI and his wife lead what you might call a decadent life, with lots of promiscuous sex and drugs. There wasn't any room in such a lifestyle for a child, which is why the Countess was kept largely hidden from view. The two eventually died from a massive heroin overdose, and I'm told the Countess found the bodies. As you can imagine, this is a very sordid topic and not one that she likes to discuss. I fear I've said too much as it is.”

“No, you've told me enough. I won't bring it up with her.”

“Very well, Dr. Zulander. Is there anything else you need?”

“Do you have anymore of Thomas LaFrenz III's writings?”

“I can get you some of his research logs.”

“That will be fine, sir.”

“I'll get them for you right away, Dr. Zulander.”

As Mr. Ferguson went to look for the books in question, Ziv tried to wrap his head around what he had just heard. Despite his experiences as a terrorist/freedom fighter/paramilitary soldier, Ziv's had led a very sheltered life, a situation compounded by the fact that he spent most of his time around robotic creations who were even more ignorant about human life than he was, and he couldn't imagine enduring the kinds of things that Diana had supposedly experienced.

The next day, Ziv managed to catch Belinda, as she tidied up the master bedchamber, and queried her about the late Lord and Lady LaFrenz.

“Excuse me for asking,” Ziv began. “Do you know much about Lord and Lady LaFrenz, the Countess' parents?”

Just like Mr. Ferguson, Belinda became very uncomfortable at the mention of the deceased persons in question.

“Well, I never actually met the late Earl's son nor his wife,” Belinda said, looking around to see if anyone was watching her. “I don't think anyone working here currently has. I was told the late Earl disinherited the son in the 60s for his dissolute lifestyle, but his wife, an heiress in her own right, helped prop up their luxurious lifestyle. And that's all I'm going to say about this subject, if you please, Dr. Zulander.”

“Wait a minute,” Ziv said, before Belinda could shoo him out of the room. “Just tell me one more thing and I'll leave and drop the whole thing. I know this sounds like I'm being pointlessly nosy, and I suppose that's true, but I just want to try and understand the Countess and what she's been through. I won't mention what you said to anyone, not even the Countess.”

“You seem like a nice young man, and you seem to care about her, which is more than I can say for a lot of people,” Belinda remarked, looking around to see if her mistress was about to walk in on them. “Just don't repeat anything I'm going to say. Like I said, I never met the late Lord LaFrenz or his wife, but there have been a lot of rumors about the Countess' parentage. The way the late Lady LaFrenz was living caused a number of the other peers to suggest that Lord LaFrenz might not be her father. Of course, none of us here ever believed that, because she looks just like the late Earl, but people like to gossip, whether they're in Parliament or in the East End.”

“I see,” Ziv said thoughtfully. “You've been very helpful, so I'll just leave you to your work.”

Belinda curtsied, as Ziv left the room to return to the breakfast nook. Belinda's account explained why Diana had asked him whether she looked like Dominique Strauss-Kahn the other day and Silvio Berlusconi the day before that (he had answered no in both cases, simply because he didn't know to whom she was referring). However, this new information also confirmed a suspicion Ziv had long held, namely that Diana/Frenzy wasn't as bad as even she seemed to be think she was. Although Ziv was still unsure how Diana got from Whigby Hall to the Corp or how Paradim factored into her biography, he concluded that much of her questionable adult behavior could be explained by the fact that she was a a victim of circumstances that were beyond her control. Thus, Ziv became convinced that he needed to save his new wife from her own demons, whether she wanted his help or not.

*

“Have you ever thought about seeing a psychologist?” Ziv asked. Diana was teaching him how to play snooker in the cavernous game room that was filled with billiard tables and dart boards. He had never imagined Lady Frenzy as the type to play a cue sport, but Diana LaFrenz said snooker was quite appropriate for a British aristocrat, since it had been invented by British officers in colonial India.

“Why?” Diana replied, sounding both suspicious and offended by the implication that her mental hygiene was deficient in some way.

“You know just to talk about things,” Ziv clarified. “It's really no different than going to a regular doctor for a check-up, only it's for your mind.”

“Have _you_ gone for a mental health check-up lately?”

“Well no, but...”

“Then why do I need one?”

“You seem to have some unresolved issues...”

“Like what? Being orphaned at ten? That's nothing. You lost your parents too, and you're managing it well, other than your brief foray into non-state violence. For me, it was easier because we never lived together, so it didn't bother me that much when they died.”

“You _never_ lived with your parents?”

Diana's face briefly registered an expression of shock when she realized she had revealed more than she intended, but she quickly recovered and said, “No, we didn't. I visited them several times a year, and that was it. Like a lot of aristocrats, they had their life and I had mine. I had a tutor and servants to deal with the day-to-day aspects of my life.” The whole thing was told in a frosty, matter-of-fact manner that suggested that Diana LaFrenz had left the room and Lady Frenzy had taken her place.

“But that's not the same as having a mom and dad all the time?”

“No, I suppose it's not.” For a moment, she leaned against her snooker cue like she was about to faint, then regained her composure. “But I've managed pretty well. Nietzsche said, 'That which does not kill you makes you stronger.' Not a bad way to look at things.”

Diana went back to the snooker table and tried to act like nothing had changed, but Ziv could tell she was still upset by the dialogue. This would be the last time the subject of Diana's past would be broached by Ziv for a long time, not because he reached the conclusion that he was being needlessly invasive, but because outside forces would intervene to prevent further contact between the two.

*

Mindful of the need to keep up a dialogue with his younger sister, Ziv talked and video chatted with Blitzy every day, assuring her that he was not only doing well but was the happiest he had ever been since the death of their parents three years before.

“It's great here,” Ziv enthused to her about a month into his stay at Whigby Hall. “It's like living in a castle. In fact, I think it is a castle, or it used to be at some point. Did you see the pictures I sent you of the poison garden?”

“Yeah,” Blitzy replied diffidently.

“Did you actually look at them or delete them?”

“No, I looked at them.”

“What did you think?”

“It's okay if you like that sort of thing,” Blitzy said diffidently, refusing to concede that anyone or any place connected to Lady Frenzy had redeeming value. “When are you coming back?”

“Maybe a couple of weeks. I don't really know.”

“Why are you always wearing a suit and tie when you videochat?”

“That's just the custom here.”

“The weather must be terrible in England this time of year.”

“No, it's been sunny and nice.” This statement was followed by an unintelligible grunt on Blitzy's part.

“Look, Blitz, I know you don't like Frenzy and you have good reasons to, but I think if you actually talked to her, you'd realize that she's not that bad.”

“Really?” Blitzy replied sarcastically.

“Yes,” Ziv declared emphatically. “She's...misunderstood.”

“What's to misunderstand? She's a vain, power-hungry, money-grubbing bitch.”

“Well, in some contexts, yes, but if you saw her the way she is here, you'd realize that there's more to her than that.”

The idea that Frenzy might have any redeeming qualities was completely offensive to Blitzy, and she abruptly terminated the video chat session. Blitzy sat in silence for a few minutes, as the BOYZZ horsed around in the background, reflecting on how “that woman” had thoroughly ensnared her well-intentioned but utterly naive brother in her evil wiles. The very fact that Ziv's opinion of “that woman” had shifted from “sexy, evil, and completely unobtainable” to “sexy, misunderstood by society, and a pretty decent person” indicated to Blitzy that Frenzy's corrosive influence had completely warped his moral compass. While this marriage may have helped end the Zulanders' war against the Corp, Blitzy would not, could not, accept “that woman” as anything other than a living embodiment of evil. Blitzy decided there was only one option left to her, and that was rescue her brother from the clutches of “that woman” as she had done so many times before.


	7. Depriv’d of Fame, Of Life and Love

_The Queen of Carthage, whom we hate,_

_As we do all in prosp'rous state,_

_Ere sunset, shall most wretched prove,_

_Depriv'd of fame, of life and love!_

 

“Is everything ready?” Blitzy asked Genesix, as she readied her invasion force for their trek to the United Kingdom. It would be a long journey, but compared to going to the moon or even Peru, Blitzy felt this mission would be comparatively simple.

“It certainly is, but I question the need for such a large number of bots on this mission.”

“We're dealing with Lady Frenzy here. Who knows what sort of traps she has waiting for us?”

“Does ZZ know about this?”

“Of course not. He'd never leave voluntarily, which is why we have to rescue him.”

“But ZZ said he was happy...”

“That's because she's got him bewitched with her feminine wiles or whatever. Once he's back here with us, everything will be back to normal.”

Although Genesix had severe misgivings about Blitzy's rescue/kidnap mission, he knew there was nothing he could do to dissuade her, and asked, “Where are we going?”

“Some place called Whigby Hall in England. D'Nerd, can you give use the coordinates?”

“Certainly,” D'Nerd answered, printing out the longitude and latitude of the place in question. “Whigby Hall: ancestral seat of the Earls of Grimleyshire, currently held by Countess Diana LaFrenz, Sixteenth Countess of Grimleyshire. Whigby Hall is also notable for being the last stately home in the United Kingdom to have an all-human staff...”

“Chill with the statistics, D'Nerd,” Blitzy said impatiently. “I just need the location.”

“I've sent it via WiFi to all the vehicles and the BOYZZ,” D'Nerd said, handing the printout handout to Blitzy.

“Perfect,” Blitzy said, folding it and putting it in her pocket.

*

Since Jungle Fiver was capable of going much faster than any conventional aircraft, supersonic or not, the trip to Grimleyshire only took ninety minutes. Blitzy circled around Whigby Hall in her VAL, with Genesix riding shotgun, looking for a landing space for Jungle Fiver. She found it in what looked to be an abandoned field several thousand feet up in the air, but was actually the LaFrenz family cemetery. When she ordered Jungle Fiver to land, it did so right on the war memorial, demolishing it into a pile of bent metal and granite rubble, and damaging a number of adjacent tombstones. But Blitzy was unaware of the damage she had caused, and wouldn't have cared even if she did. Instead, she landed her VAL near the ruined monument, and the BOYZZ tumbled out of Jungle Fiver, eager for battle.

“Okay BOYZZ,” Blitzy shouted enthusiastically, coughing a bit from the smoke created by the smashed granite. “This is what we're going to do. We're gonna split up, storm Whigby Hall, and rescue ZZ.”

“What if ZZ doesn't want to come with us?” Toolzz asked anxiously. “He said he likes it here.”

“ZZ's crazy for that chick, it's true” Jammerzz agreed. “I don't see how he's gonna come with you.”

“When we find him, I'll use the sleeper device on him,” Blitzy assured the BOYZZ. “That way he'll have to come whether he wants to or not. Now lets get moving!”

As the Street BOYZZ and Sports BOYZZ cheered, and made their way towards the massive castle-like building in the distance, Genesix pulled Blitzy aside and said, “We seem to have damaged some funerary statuary.”

“Who cares?” Blitzy said. “Frenzy is rich; she can fix whatever we break.”

“These look like tombstones. According to my anthropological database, humans place a very high attachment on reverencing the dead. I don't think ZZ would like this. He's always been clear about not hurting innocent people.”

“Tombstones mean someone's dead,” Blitzy said, annoyed that Genesix was trying to fill her head with doubts right before a battle was supposed to begin. “If someone's dead, the harm's already been done. The operative word is 'innocent' and no one associated with Lady Frenzy is innocent. Now you can either join the rescue or stay here, but either way, don't try to stop me while I rescue ZZ!”

Blitzy broke away from Genesix to join the battle oriented BOYZZ in their assault on Whigby Hall, but didn't get far before a couple of guards on horseback spotted the odd rescue party.

“Halt, who goes there?” the guards shouted in unison.

The BOYZZ were stunned at the sight of humans doing the work usually associated with bots, and were unsure about how to dispatch them in a way ZZ would approve of. However, Blitzy noticed that neither guard had a gun, and shouted, “They're not armed! Keep moving, BOYZZ!”

The BOYZZ sprinted ahead, going much faster than a human or a horse, for that matter, could possibly run. Blitzy jumped on Ninjzz's back so as not to be left behind, and the cries of the guards became increasingly distant.

“Why are there humans instead of 3As guarding Whigby Hall?” Ninjzz asked Blitzy.

“I don't know,” Blitzy panted. “It doesn't make any sense.” Then Blitzy remembered how D'Nerd had told her that Whigby Hall had an all-human staff. Suddenly, the possibility of simply blasting in and out of Whigby Hall in the same manner they had done so many times at RM Corp City seemed quite impossible. But they had already come this far, and Blitzy wasn't going to leave without her brother, even if she had to blast everyone else at Whigby Hall to do it.

“It's probably a trick,” Blitzy added. “Frenzy must be using them as human shields. If anyone gets hurt, it's her fault for having people here in the first place.”

“I don't think ZZ would like that...”

“Do you see ZZ here?” Blitzy snapped. “No, he's not here. And you know why he isn't? Because that woman has some kind of spell on him. I'm the one in charge here, and we can't show any mercy.”

She craned her neck backwards and saw a line of Frenzy's cavalry pursuing them, as the initial two that had seen her and the BOYZZ had called for backup. Fortunately for them, she and the BOYZZ were already at the main entrance, and they rushed inside before the guards on horseback could catch them. Once inside, the full grandeur and largeness of Whigby Hall completely overwhelmed Blitzy and the BOYZZ's senses, and she found herself at a loss about where to even begin the search for ZZ. However, she didn't have much time to dwell upon her confusion, because they were quickly noticed by the head maid Belinda, who dropped the tea tray she had been carrying and emitted a bloodcurdling scream. This in turn brought out about a dozen male servants, including Mr. Ferguson, to investigate the tumult, who were shocked to see a cadre of strange-looking machines and a grubby eleven year old girl in the middle of the foyer of Whigby Hall. Living and working in Whigby Hall was like being in a hermetically sealed bubble that was perpetually stuck in an unspecified point in the early twentieth century, and seeing the BOYZZ was a nonsensical anachronism that violated every tenet of logic.

Mr. Ferguson overcame whatever fear he had, and said, “You are trespassing on private property. Leave now or I will be forced to call the police.”

“We've not leaving until we get ZZ!” Blitzy shouted, with the BOYZZ nodding in unison.

Since the servants at Whigby Hall only knew Ziv Zulander as Dr. Zulander or Ziv, Mr. Ferguson had no idea who “ZZ” might be, and reiterated his threat, “All I see is an ill-bred American urchin invading the sanctity of this estate with a bunch of job-killing machines.”

Several of the lower butlers tried to restrain Blitzy, but she was too fierce for them, and easily broke free of their grasp.

“Get your hands off me!” Blitzy snapped. “No one touches me unless I say so.”

Mr. Ferguson grabbed Blitzy roughly by the wrists, and the two struggled for a bit before Blitzy shouted, “Ninjzz, throw your ninja stars at him!”

“But...”

“Just do it! Remember, I'm in charge when ZZ isn't around.”

Ninjzz flicked a couple his sharpened ninja stars at Mr. Ferguson, one of which lodged in his left leg, another in his left hand, a third right in the left shoulder, and a final one in the small of his back. Mr. Ferguson fell over and screamed in agony, as blood spurted out everywhere, and Belinda, who had been standing off to the side, had a full-fledged panic attack. The other male servants backed off from the BOYZZ, fearful of what might happen next. The rest of the BOYZZs were stunned into inaction, aware that they had just crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed. Blitzy felt sick looking at the injured man, but remembered her real purpose and jumped over his prone figure to continue her search for Ziv.

 _If he was working for Frenzy, he must be evil_ , Blitzy rationalized. “Spread out BOYZZ,” Blitzy called out, as she ran up the grand staircase with a group of male servants close on her heels. She turned a corner and hid behind a stuffed bear, while her pursuers continued running straight ahead.

With the men out of sight, she came out from her hiding place, opening and closing every door she saw to find her errant brother.

“ZZ, where are you?” Blitzy shouted in one empty room after another. Concluding that Ziv must not be on this floor, she went back to the grand staircase, and ascended to the next floor. The thought suddenly crossed her mind that Whigby Hall was so large that she could search several dozen rooms and never find him.

*

Ziv and Diana were having afternoon tea in a room that was vaguely reminiscent of a Victorian era hotel lobby, when Jungle Fiver landed in the LaFrenz family cemetery. Just as they were about to take the first sips of their tea, Diana heard a distant boom off in the distance that was the sound of the war monument being destroyed (Ziv was too busy trying to remember all of necessary etiquette rules to notice that anything was awry).

“Did you hear something?” she asked Ziv.

“No,” Ziv replied, wondering if it would be uncivilized to ask for another sugar cube.

“I'm going to investigate,” she said, getting up from her seat.

As Diana entered the halls, she saw the servants running about in a state of panic in a way that reminded her of the tumult on the lower decks of _The Naughty Bits_ before she discovered her parents' bodies. She stopped a footman and asked, “What's going on?”

“Mr. Ferguson's been stabbed, mum,” the footman said anxiously.

“Stabbed? By who?”

“Some brat with some strange-looking machines broke in, and Mr. Ferguson tried to stop them...”

“Call the ambulance, but not the police,” Diana said, trying to figure out what could be done. She didn't need to hear any further details to know that Blitzy was “rescuing” Ziv. Diana had assumed that the prospect of returning to civilian life would be sufficient to get Blitzy to accept the marriage, but she had clearly miscalculated in her assumption that the girl would think in terms of logical self interest. At that moment, all the hopes and dreams Diana had accumulated over the past month of a shared life with Ziv vanished, and she felt an acute feeling of loss and emptiness of what could have been, not unlike the sensation she had experienced when she saw her father's dead, contorted body lying on the ground.

“But mum, they're ransacking the building...”

“The police won't be able to help us,” Diana said sharply. “Take a couple of men and guard Dr. Zulander until I say otherwise.”

The footman bowed slightly, before running to the tearoom. Diana continued down the halls until she came to the foyer where a group of manservants were tending to Mr. Ferguson, who was lying on his right side, moaning in pain. Fortunately for Mr. Ferguson, Ninjzz hadn't thrown the ninja stars with full force, otherwise he would have lost several limbs and severed his spinal cord. However, they were wedged deep into his skin, and Mr. Ferguson was clearly in a great deal of pain. Diana's initial reaction was revulsion at the sight of the blood and gore, which was quickly replaced by fury directed at those responsible for Mr. Ferguson's injuries. The Corp's conflict with the Zulanders had been a largely bloodless affair that led to the destruction of untold numbers of bots and other types of machinery, while leaving the humans directing said devices largely unscathed. Despite the Zulanders' much ballyhooed insistence on not harming humans, Diana wouldn't have been surprised if she had become seriously injured or even killed during the war. However, to harm Mr. Ferguson, her grandfather's faithful retainer, who had no connection to the Corp, had taken no part in Project Krang, and probably had no idea how to even turn on a bot, was something she could not forgive or forget.

“How are you?” Diana asked Mr. Ferguson, feeling incredibly stupid for having asked such a ridiculous question; Mr. Ferguson had a bunch of ninja stars lodged in his body, and naturally, he would be in a great deal of pain. However, the rules of etiquette had no answer for the proper line of questioning to ask when your head butler has just been viciously attacked by a ninja AI.

Mr. Ferguson smiled weakly at Diana, and said, “I'll manage. I was hurt worse than this in the Gulf War.”

“Who did this to you?” Diana asked, although she already knew the answer. She took a throw pillow from a love seat on the other side of the foyer and propped his head upon it. Diana didn't know if this action would be of any use, but she wanted to feel like she was being helpful.

“Some kid and a bunch of strange machines, ones I'd never seen before. I know bots are common on the outside, but it still gives me a start to see such things. Naturally, I told them they were trespassing, and...”

“That's enough,” Diana assured him. “I can already figure out the rest. The ambulance is going to be here soon, so don't worry about that. I'll handle the rest.”

Reasoning that being left alone until the ambulance arrived would be the best course of action, Diana left Mr. Ferguson to return to Ziv. She now regretted having left him behind, but perhaps it wasn't too late to foil the “rescue” attempt.

*

As Diana tended to Mr. Ferguson, Blitzy continued her sweep of Whigby Hall in search of her errant brother. Since she, Ninjzz, the Street BOYZZs, and the Sports BOYZZ had split up after the attack on Mr. Ferguson, Blitzy assumed that someone would have to find Ziv. Out of sheer dumb luck, Blitzy stumbled upon the tearoom just as Diana was departing from the room in question. Blitzy felt intense hatred for the woman who stole her brother, and had made her life generally miserable for the last year. She was tempted to throw something at her or lash out in some other, but decided that such a uselessly vindictive action would take up valuable time that needed to be spent rescuing Ziv.

“BOYZZ, I've found ZZ!” Blitzy whispered on her communicator. “Retreat from your current positions and go back to Jungle Fiver. I'll get VAS to help me with the rest.”

Blitzy ran into the tearoom, and saw Ziv casually sitting at a table with some tea and crumpets, surrounded by the footman ordered to guard him, blissfully unaware that something was amiss. However, when Blitzy burst into the room, he realized that she was the source of all of the tumult was.

“Blitzy, what are you...”

But before Ziv could finish his sentence, Blitzy threw the sleeper device at him, hitting her brother square in the chest. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he slumped down into his chair, as he entered mega-deep sleep. The footmen assigned to guard Ziv tried to restrain the girl, but she skilfully evaded and her would-be captors, jumping over chairs, tables, and tea carts, until she retrieved the sleeper device from the half-full tea cup in which it had fallen. After quickly drying it off on her jacket sleeve, Blitzy threw the sleeper device at one footman after another, deftly picking up the device as it fell and chucking it at the next victim.

 _All those hours spent learning how to pitch at the Corp Girls' School's junior softball team finally came in handy_ , Blitzy thought wryly, as she stood in the middle of the ruined tearoom that was now scattered with the unconscious bodies of seven men, including that of her brother. In retrospect, she should have outfitted all the BOYZZ with sleeper devices so the incident with the ninja stars could have been avoided, but there was no point in mulling over what might have been. Blitzy called her VAS to make an impromptu escape rout by blasting a hole in the north wall of the tearoom. Genesix, who had stayed behind with VAS and was back in his his shotgun seat, gaped in disbelief at the damage Blitzy had caused.

“What did you did?” Genesix said.

“No time for questions,” Blitzy snapped. “Get ZZ into the VAS before someone sees us.”

Genesix jumped through the hole in the wall, and gingerly carried Ziv's unconscious body into the rather cramped space that functioned as a backseat in VAS.

“BOYZZ, I've got ZZ,” Blitzy said to her communicator. “Are you all in Jungle Fiver?”

When the BOYZZ answered in the affirmative, Blitzy and Genesix got into VAS and flew away from Whigby Hall, their mission complete.

Just as VAS departed, Diana rushed back into the tearoom, and surveyed the full devastation: the unconscious footmen, the overturned tables, smashed china, the four-foot diameter hole in the wall, and Ziv nowhere to be seen. However, this was nothing in comparison to what she saw through the hole and the remainder of the window; the war monument off in the distance reduced to a pile of granite chunks and unidentifiable bit of twisted metal. There was no question as to what had caused the damage, as Jungle Fiver left a sort of contrail in its wake, and Diana could even see the massive bot flying back to California, its occupants comfortably and smugly ignorant that they had hurt her in the most brutal way possible. Whatever slights and humiliations Diana had suffered during the Zulander war paled in comparison to this. She clenched her hands together so tightly that blood began pouring out of her palm from where her nails dug into the skin. She wanted to scream, to vent, to make the intruders hurt in the same way that they had hurt her. But that was impossible, and Diana knew it. Rather, she turned over a wicker chair, sat down, and began to cry in a very un-British, un-Lady Frenzy-ish manner, oblivious to who might hear or what they might think of her. All was lost, both for Diana LaFrenz and for Lady Frenzy.


	8. Death is Now a Welcome Guest

_Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me,_

_On thy bosom let me rest,_

_More I would, but Death invades me;_

_Death is now a welcome guest._

 

There are some types of music that one should never listen to when in a depressed state of mind: anything by Billie Holiday, _Dido's Lament_ by Henry Purcell, the last act of _Madame Butterfly_ , _Nightmare_ by Artie Shaw. Diana listened to them all, lying in a fetal position in her room, as the ancient hifi record player played one depressing album after another, and she drifted in and out of a half-dream, half-depressive stupor. She was vaguely aware of Belinda, her personal maid, coming in and out of her room, but it was as if the other woman was a shadow on the wall. There was no way to recover from this blow. Diana had disgraced herself, the Commodore, and Paradim. She was a fool to think a relationship with Ziv Zulander could work. He had abandoned her, just as her parents had so many years before. No one loved her and there was no reason to keep on living, especially if it meant having to endure fifty plus years of this kind of inter-personal rejection.

With the exception of the war monument, the damage that Blitzy and the BOYZZ had done to Whigby Hall was relatively minor. Furniture and china could easily be repaired or replaced, and none of the really valuable works of art, classic cars, or artifacts had been affected during the raid. The tomb of Victoria and Mary LaFrenz, her great aunts who had become nuns in response to the horrors of the Great War, managed to survive the assault on Whigby Hall completely unscathed, despite being only a few yards away from the now destroyed war memorial. Unlike the war monument, which had "merely" been a cenotaph, the statue of the crying British lion contained the mortal remains of the individuals it was built to commemorate, and the thought of having to deal with the desecrated bodies of a couple of nuns on her watch would have been more than Diana could bear.

Similarly, Mr. Ferguson's injuries were ugly too look at, but not life-threatening. The ninja star that had hit him in the chest had struck his rib cage, thus preventing any potentially fatal internal damage. The NHS would pay for the bulk of his medical care, and Diana would pay for whatever else Mr. Ferguson might need. While the war monument could theoretically be rebuilt, all Diana could think of was that it had been destroyed because of her marriage to Ziv. The Commodore had entrusted the care and maintenance of the LaFrenz patrimony to her, and she couldn't even do that right.

“But Death, alas! I cannot shun,” Diana whispered, recalling the words from the opera _Dido and Aeneas._ “Death must come when he is gone.”

Diana had spent her entire life suppressing her emotions, and during those few instances when she allowed herself to feel something, she didn't know how to respond. She had never felt this bad, not even when the Commodore died. Back then, Diana had simply been depressed and grief-stricken. Now she was outright suicidal, and death was the only thing on her mind. Since Britain had strict gun laws, shooting herself wasn't an option. Neither was jumping out of a window, since the Elizabethan architect who designed Whigby Hall had never considered that windows were a thing that one would want to open. The large hole in the wall of the tearoom was boarded up, pending the arrival of construction bots to fix it, so she couldn't jump out of that either. Diana looked around the room and noticed the swords on the wall for the first time. Arms and armors that had formerly been the property of her various, long-dead male relations were liberally festooned around Whigby Hall to the point where Diana generally didn't notice them, but now that she was intent on self-destruction, she took a new interest in the swords.

Ideally, Diana would have liked to mimic Dido's suicide in _The Aeneid_ , in which the unlucky Queen of Carthage fell on the sword her perfidious lover Aeneas gave her, with her towering funeral pyre visible as Aeneas' fleet made its way to Rome. But the Zulanders were long gone, and Diana didn't know how to make a fire. So she decided that the next best thing would be to die like Seneca, by severing the veins in her wrists. _I've lived like Seneca,_ Diana thought ruefully. _Including a close association with a man that some would consider a tyrant. I suppose it's only fitting that I die like him._

Diana took a broadsword off the wall, and liberated it from the scabbard. The blade was clear and polished, as it and all the other artifacts and curios at Whigby Hall were regularly dusted and cleaned. Diana could see her distorted reflected in the blade and realized that this would be the last time she would see himself. She thrust the sword into a throw pillow to test its sharpness, and the blade went straight through, requiring little effort on her part. Upon seeing the proof that the sword was fit to do its intended purpose, Diana pressed the blade against her left wrist horizontally.

Unbeknownst to Diana, the proper way to slash one's wrists was to cut vertically; attempting to do it the horizontal way meant that she would have to saw through bones and muscle before she would ever hit her arteries. The blood started dribbling down Diana's left wrist, and the sight of her own blood juxtaposed against her pale skin unexpectedly freaked her out, causing her to drop the sword. Diana started flailing around in a panic, half-expecting to drop dead from her superficial cut, unsure of whether she wanted to let the blood flow or wrap it up in an instinctual act of self-preservation. She tripped on an ottoman, and landed on the floor hard, blood staining the rug. The whole process was almost comical, albeit in a dark and disturbing way.

However, Diana was scarcely aware that she had even fallen; her head felt like it was going to explode, not in a migraine sort of way, but more in the sense that she was being forced to emotionally process more than her mind could handle. Having spent years, perhaps even decades, of suppressing her feelings, Diana was faced with a situation that no amount of wishful thinking or distraction through work could fix.

Belinda heard the tumult coming from Diana room, and went in to check on her mistress. She saw the hapless Countess of Grimleyshire on the floor, seemingly out of her mind, and bleeding. The maid screamed, and tried to keep Diana reasonably calm until the paramedics could arrive.

*

Paradim arrived at the St. Peregrine Mental Hospital, mind full of questions and regrets. During Frenzy's month-long flight of fancy, Paradim had managed to regain the senses he had lost during the Yvonne Iverson fiasco; he'd cleaned his house, rediscovered personal hygiene, and returned to his duties as CEO of the Corp. True, he didn't approve of Frenzy's new “alliance,” but she was right about the need to put the Zulander conflict behind them if the Corp was going to survive. Paradim had always suspected that Frenzy's interest in Zulander was not entirely professional, but he recalled the old adage about keeping one's enemies close and surmised that Frenzy could probably keep the young scientist on a short leash, and prevent any further troubles from him and his creations.

However, as just things seemed to be returning to some degree of normalcy, Paradim received a frantic call from Belinda telling him of the crisis at Whigby Hall, and he dropped everything to go to Britain in one of the Corp's supersonic jets. In retrospect, Paradim realized that should have been more hands on in dealing with Diana's immigration issues and perhaps even with regard to her personal life. He had constantly told Diana that nothing good could ever come from her pursuing a conventional romantic relationship, but she was unwilling to listen. And now, here he was, trying to bail her out of a mental hospital. Fortunately for Diana, the cuts on her wrist were superficial, mostly because she had been cutting in the wrong direction, but she still had to be locked up in a psych ward for her own protection for the next forty-eight hours.

“I'm here to see Ms. Sieglinde Völsung,” Paradim told the secretary bot manning the front desk of the hospital, using the pseudonym Frenzy always used when she wanted to be incognito.

“Are you immediate family?” the bot asked.

“Ms. Völsung is an orphan,” Paradim replied. “If you look at her files under next of kin, I should be listed as L.L. Paradim. She'll appreciate my being here, and we have some matters of importance to discuss.”

“Very well,” the bot said. “Come with me.”

Paradim followed the bot down a series of drab grey-blue halls that smelled of disinfectant and latex. None of the human workers recognized him as Sir Lewis Leon Paradim, because he too was incognito, dressed in a shabby brown suit, tinted glasses, and pork pie hat that made him look more like a college professor than the CEO of the largest and richest company in the world. Only his intense yellow-green eyes would have clued the St. Peregrine's staff as to who “Ms. Völsung's” guest really was, and they were obscured by his glasses.

The bot stopped at a door number 119, and said, “Your visit is limited to ten minutes. Ms. Völsung needs to rest.”

Paradim opened the door and saw Diana – for indeed, it was that scared, broken, unloved little girl and not Lady Frenzy, his dynamic creation – handcuffed to a hospital bed, her eyes glazed over and fixed to an unknown point on the ceiling. Still, for someone who was in the midst of a nervous breakdown, Diana looked pretty good, albeit pale and disheveled, reminding Paradim of a Victorian era waif, perhaps something akin to a portrait of Miss Haversham as a young lady. Paradim knew he should probably say something comforting, but all he could think of was how this incident was going to affect the Corp and its bottom line.

“I told you this was going to happen, didn't I?” Paradim said, taking on the didactic tone of a teacher to match his faux professor disguise. “And what do you have to show for? A hole in Whigby Hall, the war monument destroyed, Peter Ferguson in the hospital, and you've been committed to the nut house, all because you couldn't control your libido. I can only assume that this so-called suicide attempt was some kind of poorly orchestrated cry for help, because you were never going to kill yourself cutting they way you were. You cut parallel to the arm, not perpendicular!”

Paradim was going to continue berating Diana about all the things she did and didn't do, until he saw a line of tears streaming down her face. He was sure Diana must have cried when her grandfather died, but that had been almost ten years ago, before she became Lady Frenzy, a tough as nails businesswoman for whom crying would be unthinkable. In a rare show of compassion, Paradim decided that the lecturing and “I told you so” could wait for a while, and he spent the rest of the brief visit stroking Diana's hair until she went to sleep.

*

After the forty-eight hour hold ended, Diana was released into Paradim' custody and the two returned to the Mega City under a veil of secrecy. Much like the Department of Justice hearing, the circumstances surrounding her return to the United States were a blur for Diana, not because she was drunk, but because she had been sedated by the mental hospital so much that her usually sharp mind was as slow and thick as the low lying clouds covering Mega City on the day of her return. Not that Diana cared about clouds, the Corp, or much of anything, for that matter.

That was probably for the best, since Paradim wasn't entirely sure if her immigration situation had been resolved. Since Ziv Zulander was out of the picture, presumably permanently, there was a very real possibility that the INS would declare the marriage a fraud and try to get Diana deported again. Though Paradim was not so secretly relieved that Zulander was gone, the question of how to keep Diana in the United States remained. Paradim decided to do what he should have done in the first place, namely try to obtain a new work visa for Diana. While Paradim had managed to suppress the details surrounding the attack on Whigby Hall in the British media, he still needed an explanation as to why Frenzy was returning to the US alone, and in clearly bad shape. He then released a statement to the global media indicating that Lady Frenzy was suffering from “exhaustion,” the catch-all term used whenever celebrities had to mysteriously disappear from view for an undisclosed period of time, and she needed to spent some time to herself to recuperate.

Meanwhile, Diana herself was sequestered in her apartments, surrounded by some medic bots to ensure she didn't engage in any additional self-injurious behavior. Other bots attended to Diana's beauty regime – bathing her, dressing her, fixing her hair, giving her manicures, applying her makeup – so she continued to look like her usual glamorous self, assuming one didn't notice the dead eyes, excessively pale complexion, and her complete inability to interact with her environment. Paradim would visit several times a day to check on her, but his visits were short, since Diana was non-communicative.

“I've come to see you,” Paradim announced on one such visit. No answer from Diana, who was staring at the wall, while the medic bots tried to get her to eat. Since her ignominious return to RM Corp City, Diana had shown no interest in any aspect of normal life, including food, and had to fed intravenously, although her small army of bot attendants kept coaxing her to at least consider eating independently. Thus far, their entreaties had been in vain, and Diana remained hooked up to the feeding machine.

“How are you feeling today?” Paradim continued.

More silence from Diana.

“I'm hoping you'll be well enough to attend the next board meeting. Do you think you'll be up to it?”

Crickets.

“Hiss' Brain Grain project has been put on permanent hiatus. Those thinking bots were simply too difficult to deal with; they kept demanding the most ridiculous things like cable TV, luxury cars, and even a press conference for what one might call a public 'coming out' party. As if I'm going to be ordered around by a bunch of bots. Naturally, Hiss destroyed them right away, and banished that Barnes fellow to the code monkey assembly line. Fortunately, Barnes is so grateful to have a job that he won't go rouge or anything. Since we're not at war anymore, there's no need for thinking bots anyway, though at least we have the technology should we ever need them again. I can see now why Zulander never bothered to patent his thinking bots; I have no idea how those things could ever be integrated into human society.”

Paradim immediately regretted mentioning Zulander, but hearing his name had no effect on Diana, who remained dead-eyed and silent.

“I'm working on your immigration papers as we speak,” Paradim said, changing the subject. “I may not have the same cachet that it did before the...incident, but there's no reason why the Corp shouldn't be able to sponsor new work visa for you. It's all being done by the books, so Martin and those other cretins at the Department of Justice won't have anything to complain about.”

Realizing that he wasn't going be able to get a conversation going with his embattled protégé, Paradim took leave of her, while the bots continued their futile efforts to get Diana to eat.

*

While Diana recovered from her “exhaustion” in RM Corp City, Ziv remained in a state of quasi-suspended animation himself back at his underground abode. After Ziv's violent rescue/kidnapping at Whigby Hall, Blitzy decided that the best way to break the spell Lady Frenzy had over her brother was to physically prevent him from seeing or thinking about her. Using the sleeper device to keep her brother unconscious and compliant, Blitzy kept Ziv's sleeping form propped up in a cot in the medical clinic, with vital nutrients and hydration fed to him via an IV line, as was the case with Diana.

“Is this really necessary?” Watzon asked Blitzy doubtfully, as Ziv entered his second week of 24/7 mega-deep sleep.

“Of course it's necessary,” Blitzy insisted. “If ZZ was awake, he'd just be talking about that woman and complaining about the rescue. He'd probably even try to contact her. We just need to keep him asleep for a couple more weeks. By then, she'll have forgotten about him and he'll just have to move on. ”

“What about that man who got injured during the attack?”

“What about him?”

“Do you know if he's okay?”

“Don't know, don't care.”

“You know that when ZZ wakes up, he's going to be angry with you for that. He's always been very clear about not hurting innocent people.”

“It was that guy's own fault for working for Lady Frenzy.”

“Was he armed?”

“No, but...”

“What's the difference between him and the thousands of people who work for the Corp? When you go into a mission with a 'shoot first, ask questions later' attitude, someone is bound to get caught up in the crossfire. If Frenzy or the man Ninjzz injured sued us or tried to get us arrested, they'd be completely in the right.”

“That's not going to happen,” Blitzy snapped. “If Frenzy or the Corp was going to do anything, they would have done it by now, and we haven't heard anything about it since we came home. I'm not going to apologize for doing what I had to do to save my brother.”

Blitzy stormed away from Watzon and the unconscious Ziv, and went to her room, where she flopped on the bed and tried to read a comic book. Although her eyes scanned across the pages, Blitzy's mind was too preoccupied with her previous conversation with Watzon to focus on the words. Truthfully, Blitzy's conscience was nagging her about injuring Mr. Ferguson during the assault on Whigby Hall. She knew she had gone too far, that she had broken the rules of engagement that the Zulanders believed separated them from the supposedly unethical executives at the Corp. Eventually Ziv would have to be awoken from his artificial sleep, and then she'd really get the riot act. Yet, Blitzy was sure that Ziv would have to understand why she did what she did, and that she had only done it because she loved him, which was more than could be said for “that woman.”

*

After spending about three weeks in a catatonic state, Diana's mental fog began to lift and she slowly began to gain some understanding of what had happened to her. She was still horribly depressed and didn't know how she would manage going forward, but she felt relieved to be leaving behind her former vegetable-like state behind.

To give her seemingly pointless life some meaning, Diana decided that she had find someone to repair the war monument at Whigby Hall. She had brought the blueprints for the cenotaph with her when she returned to the United States to attend Stanford as a memento of Whigby Hall, and they lay in her desk drawer in her apartment. Paradim had removed most of her media devices – smartphone, televiewer, laptop – ostensibly to keep Diana shielded from outside influences that might further upset her, but also to prevent any Zulanders from attempting to contacting her. Fortunately, the tablet Diana used to read dense books on business trips managed to escape the purge, having been hidden from Paradim in her nightstand.

Finding the right sculptor proved to be more difficult than Diana anticipated, as the only artists she could find were of the abstract school, and were unable or unwilling to recreate to create photo-realistic bronze sculptures. The only promising lead was a certain Louis Porter, who created realistic sculptures, mostly of famous African-Americans, but lived out in the middle of nowhere in New Mexico and didn't have an email address. Mr. Porter's personal website seemed to be maintained by a third party, as a long rant on the page detailed how the artist in question believed that email was a corporate plot to spy on the American people. As Diana pondered how she could get to New Mexico, she wondered what the future would hold for her; she felt even less inclined to resume being Lady Frenzy than she had been before her mental collapse, but until she could repair the war memorial, the idea of returning to Whigby Hall was too painful to contemplate. What else did that leave?

As Diana's mental state improved, her physical health, which had always been excellent, seemed to deteriorate: she felt nauseous and tired all the time, her period was late, and suffered from dizzy spells and a strange tenderness in her breasts. At first, Diana assumed that her physical ailments were all psycho-somatic and would be resolved once she got her mind in order, but her mystery illness intensified even as her cognitive abilities returned to their former sharpness. Diana was overcome with a sense of dread, not wanting to believe what her intuition and her body were telling her.

To be certain, Diana got one of her medic bots to get a pregnancy test. Being the good, non-thinking hunk of metal that it was, the medic bot obeyed without pestering her with invasive questions. When the results came out positive, Diana, still in denial, took another test, and then another one after that. After taking ten pregnancy tests, all with the same outcome, Diana had to accept that she was pregnant and surrounded by people who would displeased, to put it mildly, about this development. Other than haranguing at her at the hospital, Paradim had been surprisingly understanding for the most part about the circumstances surrounding Diana's nervous breakdown, but she doubted that he'd be as sensitive about a Zulander-related pregnancy, and Hiss would use it as further evidence of her questionable loyalty to the Corp. Yet once again, Diana was sure that Paradim would warm to the idea, if she could simply explain it right, and Hiss would have to fall in line to stay in Paradim's good graces. The problem was that Diana was unable to think of any way that her being pregnant could turn into a net boon for the Corp. Nonetheless, the prospect of entering the motherhood stage of life intrigued Diana, and she began to feel hopeful about the future for the first time since her nervous breakdown.

Paradim, feeling that Diana was becoming well enough to resume her duties as Lady Frenzy, came to visit her with the intention of telling her that she needed to make the upcoming board meeting. As Paradim waited for her bot servants to summon her, he noticed that Diana's trash can was overflowing, something that he had never seen before. Since Diana had been virtually bedridden for more a month, Paradim wondered what she could have been doing that would have caused her to accumulate so much waste. He looked into the trash can, and saw a pile of used pregnancy tests. His initial reaction was shock, and then anger.

Diana entered the room, face plastered with more makeup than usual to hide the ashen color that her complexion had taken as of late. She was about to say hello to Paradim, until she saw his yellow-green eyes blazing in anger at her. _He knows_ , Diana thought, taking her place in the seat opposite to Paradim and hoping he wouldn't notice her anxiety.

“How long did you think you could hide this?” Paradim said, assuming that Diana would instinctively know what “this” was. “Did you think I wouldn't know?

“I wasn't hiding anything,” Diana said, feeling even more nauseous than usual. Her mind had gone completely blank again, and all of the sophistry she had devised to explain her pregnancy had mysteriously exited her brain.

“What do you call this?” Paradim said, taking one of the pregnancy test boxes out of the trash and thrusting it in her face.

“A box,” Diana said without thinking, unaware that her response could be interpreted as flippant.

“Are you trying to be funny?” Paradim snapped.

“No,” Diana replied. “What do you want me to say?”

“Explain what were you thinking when you decided to get pregnant.”

Diana resented the idea that she should have to justify being pregnant, as if she was some idiot teenager who got knocked up in the backseat of a used Honda; she was twenty-six years old, the second richest person in the world after Paradim himself, had earned multiple degrees from the most prestigious schools in the world while still a teenager, and was perfectly capable of taking care of a baby. But Diana knew she couldn't say this to Paradim, and said, “There's nothing unusual about a married woman getting pregnant.”

“I think some people might dispute the 'married woman' detail,” Paradim said sarcastically.

“I'm still married on paper,” Diana said.

“You know INS is going to claim that marriage was a sham, right?”

“It wasn't a sham,” Diana insisted, which she believed down to the very core of her being. Diana remembered how happy Ziv had been at Whigby Hall, at least until Blitzy had taken it upon herself to “rescue” him. From Diana's perspective, she and Ziv were a twenty-first century version of Peter Abelard and Héloïse, two geniuses made for each other, but forced to be apart due to intrusive social conventions and meddling relatives. But she knew Paradim had no patience for romantic notions about anything, and kept these thoughts to herself.

“Well, it doesn't matter now,” Paradim said, kicking the trash can off to the side. “Zulander is gone, and you're going to have an abortion.”

“What?” Diana said, too shocked to say anything else. She was still getting used to the idea of being pregnant, and hadn't fully processed what it would mean on a physiological or psychological level, but abortion hadn't entered her mind at all, especially since Diana remained convinced that the mixture of her and Ziv's DNA would led to the creation of another Nils Bohr.

“This is for the best,” Paradim assured her. “Assuming this pregnancy went to full-term, do you think the Zulanders would let you keep the baby? You saw how much damage Blitzy did when you committed the unpardonable sin of deflowering her delicate brother. I mean, let's be serious here; Blitzy thinks you're little better than Squeaky Fromme. The minute she finds out that you have a baby with Zulander DNA, she'd steal it without thinking twice about it, and get poor, dimwitted Ziv to go along with her. It's better to not let it get to that point in the first place.”

“I need an heir,” Diana said, hoping Paradim would be swayed by her duty to procreate for Queen and Country.

“An heir for what?”

“To inherit Whigby Hall and continue the LaFrenz line.”

“Actually you don't. This may sound cruel, but the LaFrenz line just needs to die out. With the notable exception of yourself and your uncle Michael, the LaFrenzes have been characterized by the same levels of mediocrity endemic to the British upper class. Even your beloved Commodore was simply an average man who just happened to inherit an excessive amount of money and land only because of an accident of history. And what would the Commodore say if he knew you married a Jew – you know Ziv Zulander is technically Jewish because he had a Jewish mother? I seriously doubt the Commodore ever lost the genteel antisemitism common to men of his generation and class.”

“I don't think the Commodore would be like that,” Diana insisted, refusing to believe the worst of the grandfather she still idolized. “The Rothchilds have been ennobled for hundreds of years and the Commodore had no problem inviting them to Whigby Hall. And he said he regretted disowning Daphne.”

“That's only because Daphne killed herself, and he felt guilty about it. If Daphne had lived and had a bunch of red-headed brats with that plumber in Dublin or South London, the Commodore wouldn't have given her a second thought.”

“I can't live my life based on what might happen or on the hypothetical opinions of dead people,” Diana said. “Or the current opinions of geriatric racists who already have both feet in the grave...”

“Diana, please,” Paradim interrupted. “You have as much business being pregnant as your own mother did, which is none. Given the way Sophie LaFrenz used and abused her body, you should consider yourself lucky that you weren't born with congenital syphilis or fetal alcohol syndrome or webbed feet. You don't know the first thing about child care, were never properly socialized with other children, and grew up completely bereft of any kind of normal maternal affection. You wouldn't know how to be a mother even if babies came with instruction books.”

“Having a baby isn't like doing calculus,” Diana said stubbornly. “You don't have to be a genius. And even if it was, it wouldn't matter, since I'm a genius and doing calculus is as easy for me as getting up in the morning.”

“Be serious,” Paradim sighed, clearly irritated that things had come to the point where this conservation was even necessary. “You're damaged goods. You don't know how to love. It's not part of your make-up. Even without the violent rescue by his sister, Zulander would have left you eventually because he's emotionally needy and you're incapable of giving anything back. Did you tell Zulander about what happened on your seventh birthday.”

“No,” Diana mumbled, looking at the floor.

“I didn't think so,” Paradim replied smugly.

“I was getting to it,” Diana insisted. “It's just not the kind of thing one talks about at breakfast.”

“If you were going to tell him, you would have done it. The fact that you didn't suggests that you didn't trust him enough. It's probably for the best, though. Don't the Zulanders seem like the judgmental type? Far too convinced of their own self-righteousness. No different really than Mrs. Todd-Iverson in that regard. They'd probably criticize you for what you were wearing or for being out late at night. You couldn't have had much of a relationship if you felt like you couldn't share that with him after a month of being together. That's why you don't need anyone but me, because I saw your brokenness and loved you anyway. Have you ever wondered why people would sometimes refer to you as Tommy and Sophia's 'toilet baby'?”

“Not really,” Diana said, wondering where this digression was going. “Most of their 'friends' did nothing but talk nonsense, so I never thought that there was any reason to take what they said seriously.”

“In this case, they weren't talking nonsense,” Paradim said, eyes narrowing dangerously in a way that increased Diana's anxiety and nausea. “You see, I was there when you were born. It was the same day that your father gave me the seed capital I needed to reorganize the Megafact Corporation I inherited from my father into the RM Corp. Sophie was looking baked as usual, and retired to the lavatory, where you made your inauspicious arrival into this world. Thus started the persistent rumor of Tommy and Sophia's 'toilet baby.' You know where the name Diana came from? A coffee table book about Princess Diana that just happened to catch Tommy's eye. He couldn't even be bothered to think about a real name for you. Can you imagine what stupid name he might have picked if it had been a copy of _Penthouse_ or _Hustler_ in front of him? Probably some stripper name like 'Chardonnay' or 'Ecstasy,' the latter one spelled with a couple of Xs. He just took the first one that came to his mind. You see, my dear Diana, I know things about you that even you don't know.”

Diana was shocked by Paradim's revelations, but they did put much of her early life into perspective, while spawning a host of other questions. How many people had been present on _The Naughty Bits_ when she was born? Were people still talking about the unknown fate of Tommy and Sophie LaFrenz's unlucky “toilet baby”? Even that uptight bitch Mrs. Todd-Iverson had known about it, even though she supposedly had left behind her life of debauchery back in the 1960s. The idea of everyone in the upper echelons knowing about Diana LaFrenz, former toilet baby, made her stomach churn even more than it already was.

“And there's more,” Paradim said, as he watched Diana processing this new information. “You know that Antoine Ducheval who tried to take liberties with you? I killed him. Well, it all depends on how you define 'killed.' He was always drunk – no shock, since being inebriated was practically a given for the regulars on that ship – and we got into an altercation, and he fell off the deck. However you want to describe what happened, your would-be rapist paid the ultimate price for what he did. You probably don't know this, since you went back into quasi-seclusion with your Ms. Schelling after the incident, but when the French police were looking for Ducheval, they looked on the hard drives of his various computers and found hundreds, if not thousands of images of young girls in pornographic situations. His family tried to hush the whole thing up, since the Duchevals are quite powerful in France, but public interest and outrage was such that they couldn't hide behind their money and privilege. Not only was I able to give you, Diana LaFrenz, the justice you deserved, but also for all the other children Ducheval abused or exploited. Would Zulander have done that? Of course not. He probably would have insisted you forgive Ducheval or some nonsense like that. I saw a problem and solved it in the best way possible, even if it was technically against the law. That's why I would have been an excellent World President, because I would have approached global issues with the same forthrightness.”

Diana felt like she should be horrified or shocked by Paradim's admission that he had been responsible for the death of Antoine Ducheval, but instead she felt nothing but admiration and thankfulness. “Thank you,” she said somewhat absentmindedly.

“You're welcome,” Paradim replied, satisfied that he had impressed upon Diana the need for her continued need to acquiescence to his will.

“But I still I want to quit,” Diana added.

“You want to quit what?” Paradim asked, eyebrow half-cocked.

“I want to quit the Corp. Quit being Lady Frenzy. Quit this entire situation.”

“No,” Paradim replied firmly.

“No, what?”

“No, you can't quit. That's preposterous.”

“You told me I could quit at any time.”

“That was then. You're too important for me to lose. As valuable as Ziv Zulander may have been or might have been, you are one thousand times more important. I couldn't imagine running the Corp without you. If it wasn't for you, I couldn't have made it through the Department of Justice hearings.”

“You didn't even deal with the DOJ. It was just me, by myself.”

“I understand that. You have to understand that I wasn't in my right mind at the time, just like how you haven't been in your right mind for the past month. We supported each other during those times, and we'll keep doing so into the future. I've told you before that people like us are too advanced for trifling things like romance, and this unfortunate incident merely reinforces what I said. Now, I don't want to hear another word about it. I'm going to arrange the abortion for tomorrow morning at the Corp's medical clinic and then we won't talk about this again.”

With that, Paradim got up from his chair and left, before Diana could say anything to the contrary.


	9. Farewell, Valhalla!

_Farewell, Valhalla’s_

_bright glittering world!_

_Your glorious halls_

_now may fall to dust!_

_Farewell, proud, radiant,_

_godly race!_

_End in joy,_

_you eternal clan!_

_And rend, O Norns,_

_that rope you weave!_

_Gods may sink_

_to eternal night!_

_Twilight and darkness_

_seize all the clan!_

 

Once Paradim left, Diana stared at the wall blankly for an hour or so, before the blankness was replaced with a flood of thoughts, which eventually coalesced into the firm realization that things could not go on as they had. While she had appreciated Paradim's guidance when she was a rudderless teenager looking for a father figure, Diana felt increasingly boxed in by her life as Lady Frenzy; she was tired of dealing with Hiss' passive-aggressive attacks on her, tired of bots, tired of the media gawking at her, and most of all, tired of Paradim micromanaging her life. What really aggravated her was how Paradim told her that she was irreparably damaged and incapable of forming any significant bonds aside from him. Diana would be the first to admit that she had more than her share of neuroses, but she was certain that there were people out there who had had worse childhoods than her and more personal problems, yet still managed to have normal lives and relationships.

Diana was also positive that her baby had a brilliant future awaiting him or her, and that the combination of her and Ziv's genetic material would lead to a child that extremely smart and incredibly good-looking. True, Diana's own parents were stupid even by aristocratic standards, but she attributed their vapidness to the mistaken values of a previous era. _She_ wouldn't make those kinds of mistakes with her baby. Of course, Diana's views about pregnancy would have been completely different if she had gotten pregnant by Prince Max or Bobby...Diana reflexively shuddered at the idea of carrying the seed of either one of those losers and felt relieved that she had been logical about birth control in both of those situations even if the decision to jump into bed with them had been completely illogical in retrospect.

In any case, it was time for Diana take charge of the trajectory of her life, rather than allow Paradim or anyone else to plot out her future for her. At first, the idea of leaving behind everything she knew for an uncertain future seemed daunting, but the more Diana thought about it, the more she thought it could work. Money wasn't an issue; even if Diana wouldn't be pulling in a salary from the Corp, she had invested wisely and she still had a great deal of Corp stock, not to mention the income she received from the half a dozen or so other companies she owned. While Paradim was right that she had no firsthand knowledge of children or babies, the same could be said for a lot of people, so Diana didn't think she was unusual in that regard. Diana knew she could be a better parent than her own parents, although with the bar set so low, that didn't really mean much. She felt treasonous thinking these thoughts, remembering all that Paradim had done for her, but reassured herself that when her mentor saw how awesome she was going to be on her own that all would be well between them. Eventually.

Diana knew the media had been told that she was suffering from “exhaustion,” and if she just showed up at some luxury hotel, she'd be swarmed by media wanting to know what she was doing. What Diana needed was some place where she could lie low for a few weeks while she formulated a better idea of what she wanted to do. She was at a loss for where the most famous woman in the world could crash without being noticed, until Diana remembered the sprawling house/bunker out in the Owlshead Mountains, a property that only she and the California property tax office knew existed. It had proved useful before in supplying Diana with the sex tapes that got Mrs. Todd-Iverson off her back and now it would serve as her temporary hiding place. Diana packed the steamer trunk she had brought from England, filling it with the photo albums she inherited from Tommy and the Commodore, packages of photographs that chronicled the trajectory of her own peculiar life, paintings of the previous Earls of Grimleyshire, various RM Corp ID badges and security cards, her British passport, some books and toiletries, half a dozen jars of Frank Cooper's “Oxford” marmalade, and as many House of Lebec clothes that would fit in the space that was left.

Since Paradim assumed that Diana was more or less of sound mind again and would thus be resuming her duties as Lady Frenzy in the near future, he had restored telephone and WiFi service to her apartments, and she used the phone to make a number of calls to settle her affairs. With Peter Ferguson out of commission for the foreseeable future, she arranged for Mr. Wolcott to take his place as the head butler and manager of Whigby Hall, and for Ms. Schelling to have a position at Oxford in exchange for donating a building or two. Diana thought about writing a note explaining her motives, but decided against it, reasoning that it would take too much time and it wasn't like there was anything she could say that would change Paradim's mind.

Although RM Corp City in general and the Corp Condo complex in particular were covered in surveillance cameras, Diana knew there were “blind spots” covered by any cameras, and planned to use those to make her escape undetected. She got one of her Personal Police Bots to act as a porter and carry her trunk, while Diana dashed between the blind spots, hoping that she wouldn't come in contact with anyone who might spoil her plan; if security control caught her leaving, they would surely come after her. She eventually came to the sub-basement of the Corp Condo Complex, which had a secret hatch known only to her and Dr. Hiss that led into Paradim's secret escape tunnel. Diana lifted the hatch door with some difficulty and carefully lowered herself into the tunnel, with the Personal Police Bot following close behind. It was a bit difficult to bring the trunk through the narrow hatch, but she and the bot managed to bring it inside by working in tandem. The escape tunnel branched off in several directions, with one path going towards the RM Corp tower, another going to the main vault, and a third leading to the nondescript shed that led one out of RM City altogether. Diana and her bot followed to the path to the shed, and once out in the open, went to a hanger where the Corp's squadron of helibots were stored when not in use. Choosing a helibot at random, Diana ordered the bot to put her trunk in the rear of the vehicle, and then wiped its memory clear of everything that had happened in the last half-hour, after which she shot the bot with a laser handgun and gingerly placed the still warm fragments in the recycling chute.

With the helibot loaded, Diana flew away from RM City, away from her life as Lady Frenzy, and into an unknown future.

*

After flying for about two and a half hours, Diana and her helibot finally landed in the isolated Owlshead Mountain compound that was to be her home for the next couple of weeks. Diana hadn't been back to the property since she initially found the sex tapes several years previously, and the house had been completely restored to its _c'est chic_ ( _c'est_ bleak) late 1970s/early 1980s splendor. Her original intention had been to redecorate the house to make the interior less tacky, but like her peculiar decision to keep the sex tapes before she realized their blackmail potential, the historian in her felt that it should retain its original décor, perhaps as a warning to future generations of what to avoid when engaging in interior decorating. A dozen bots stayed at the property year-round to keep it in a livable condition, always waiting for the day when their owner would show up to visit. Since Paradim didn't know the Owlshead house existed, Diana felt confident that she could decamp there for however long she needed without being discovered. One of the maintenance bots brought her trunk into the house, while Diana herself collapsed onto a garish orange water bed, snuggled beneath the fake zebra skin blanket, and had the deepest, most relaxing sleep she had had in over a month.

*

The next morning, Paradim arrived at Diana's apartment to accompany her to the Corp's medical office. Given how recalcitrant Diana had been to the idea of an abortion, Paradim didn't trust her to go to the medical office on her own accord, so he decided to take her there himself. He knew that Diana's anger would be temporary, and if she could just get back to some kind of normal routine, the troubles of the last few months would soon be forgotten. She just needed to accept that he knew what was best for her and nothing but trouble would occur if she tried to go it alone. If only things could be as they were ten years ago, when Diana was content to lavish all of her energy and attention on him, before she decided she needed other relationships and other people. Paradim had looked the other way at her dalliances with Prince Max and Bobby, because he knew those “relationships” were only about sex and would invariably end badly, and she would inevitably come crawling back to him in defeat. Still, sex was a human need for most people, especially for those in their twenties, so Paradim figured that more meaningless sex would solve whatever existential problems were plaguing Diana. _Maybe I could convince that Lord Haw-Haw guy or whoever that friend with benefits she had to come back,_ Paradim thought, as he entered the apartment.

As soon as Paradim entered the foyer, he could tell that something was off: pictures were missing off the wall, gaps in the bookcase, pillows and sheets gone. The scene suggested a burglary, but Paradim knew there was no way a garden variety thug would be able to get through the Corp's security. His next thought was that Zulander had kidnapped Diana, but there was nothing to suggest that a struggle had taken place. _Not that Diana would need much convincing if Zulander were to come calling for her_ , Paradim thought ruefully. But on further thought, such an action would require permission from Zulander souer, and he couldn't imagine Blitzy and Diana voluntarily sharing the same living space. Paradim concluded that Diana had decided to temporarily leave out of some sort of misplaced pique, much in the same way petulant teenagers would run off to their friends' homes after an argument with their parents, and like a teenager, she'd be back in a few days when she realized he was right. Indeed, the more Paradim thought about it, the more he realized that his misguided protege was probably suffering from a delayed adolescence, and was slowly crashing back to reality.

 _Diana's never even gone to the supermarket on her own_ , Paradim thought smugly. _There's no way she can manage without me. She'll be back._

*

“And that is, in a word, my own true story,” the woman once known as Lady Frenzy, now known as Diana Carter, announced to her disinterested companion.

“That was really long-winded,” Carlotta Savoy said, who herself was now going by the name Isabella Salazar.

“I thought you wanted to hear the whole thing,” Frenzy/Carter said, annoyed that Savoy/Salazar found her tale of love, freedom, and independence so underwhelming. 

“Do you have to put obscure literary references in everything?”

“It's not my fault you're uncultured,” Frenzy/Carter replied. “The references aren't obscure if you have a solid foundation in the classics.”

“I'm not uncultured!” Savoy/Salazar insisted, now deeply offended.

“Maybe not, but you definitely need to work on your cultural literacy,” Frenzy/Carter said, taking a sip of water from her mug, which had _World's Greatest Mom_ in Latin printed on the outside. “Various translations of _The Aeneid_ are readily available, both online and in the print, depending on your preferences. I'm not surprised that Americans wouldn't recognize _The Aeneid_ , but I would have thought that the schools in Spain would have more respect for the classics. Seriously, what are they teaching kids today?”

 

END OF PART II


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